Bumbling Towards Ecstasy
by Gowdie
Summary: ﻿Harry finally manages to survive his professed destiny. Now what is a bloke supposed to do? Sequel to Bewitched and Bewildered. Because life doesn't end five minutes after you beat the big bad and winning the girl is only half of the story. HarryGinny
1. Welcome Back, Potter

Author's Note: Updates will be a little slower this time around. But before you freak out, keep in mind that for Bewitched and Bewildered I posted every two - four days or so, and you people were spoiled. SPOILED! I am currently working two to three more hours a day, and it turns out those three hours are the entire difference between a comfortable existence and utter exhaustion. Also, both of my betas went out and acquired busier lives. Traitors! (Hee.) If I run up against July 16th (the Day of Great Joy), I plan on taking a break for two weeks to give everyone (including myself) time to read the book. I will then post the remaining chapters over the next couple weeks to give you something to do while other authors figure out what they want to write about the newest installment.

Extreme thanks to Loony Phoenix for his patient and talented editing. He doesn't even yell at me when I keep making the same mistake over and over again! And to Kjirstyn for all her fine touches at Checkmated.

A recent quote from young Mister Radcliffe in regards to Harry: "He's pathetic at the whole romance thing. He's a character for anyone who's ever been awkward with a girl." Now, I don't agree with all of Daniel's opinions, like that whole CNN interview where he went on about how Harry is probably going to die, but in this case, I simply have to say, "Sing it, Dan!"

Welcome Back, Potter

It was the middle of August - and eighteen-year-old Harry Potter was once again recovering from his latest adventure, in a hospital bed. Though this time, rather than being under the care of Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts, he was in a private room at St. Mungo's. And he had been unconscious for more than two weeks.

All of his cuts and bruises had healed. The three cracked ribs he had suffered were mended the very first night. For all intents and purposes, his body appeared in perfect health, it merely refused to wake. The experts all agreed his coma was magical in nature, though it did not appear nefarious by any means. Whatever the last spell he had cast was, it had terribly overwhelmed him, draining everything he had to offer. Now he simply needed to rest.

Though he didn't know it, Harry was never alone. His second family took turns sitting with him during the day and a veritable team of Healers checked on his progress hourly. A Private Healer even watched over him through the night, after visiting hours. Everyone wanted to make sure Harry Potter had the absolute best in care - he was once again the hero of the Wizarding World.

A few days shy of his birthday, Harry had finally defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort. Literally reduced him to a pile of bones and ash.

16 Days Earlier

Harry was walking around the grounds of Hogwarts in a serious grump. There were so many things eating at him, he didn't even know where to start.

He shouldn't even be there, for one. He had graduated over a month ago. He should be starting his life, but this wonderful place, that had been his home for seven years, had become his prison. And he had no idea how long it was going to last.

Dumbledore had finally fallen last autumn. He went down in a blaze of glory - protecting St. Mungo's Hospital from attack. Voldemort and his minions had actually sunk so low as to attempt to purify the weakest members of the Wizarding community. Dumbledore prevailed, just as he always had, but this time the size and scope of the effort took everything the old man had to give, including his life.

Voldemort's followers had seized upon their Master's apparent victory. The world outside had become dangerous for Muggle-borns and their supporters.

Hogwarts remained the one bastion of peace, and all the students were invited to stay as long as the terror raged outside. Well, the others were invited. Harry rather felt his living there had been insisted upon. Demanded by those who loved him, and the Ministry. He was really starting to loath all things to do with government.

And Harry wasn't convinced that Hogwarts really was the great fortress of security it claimed to be anyway. Everyone always said Hogwarts was the safest place in the Wizarding World, but if that were true, Harry thought, all it really meant was that nowhere was safe. Hadn't Voldemort essentially lived there all of Harry's first year? Ginny had been possessed as an eleven-year-old child. Had her innocence stolen as she nearly killed her own friends. Harry had been kidnapped, under the watchful eyes of hundreds of people during the Triwizard Tournament. Even Sirius had managed to break into the boys' dorm.

No, Hogwarts wasn't safe. That was a fiction.

One of the reasons Harry had agreed to stay was because at least this way, Voldemort would know exactly where to find him. All he had to do was wait. But the wait was starting to drive him a little mad. Especially since there was nothing left for him to do. Dumbledore had taught him the spell he would use, assuring Harry that his heart was strong enough to succeed. And he practised the incantation and meditated regularly to master focussing his mind and energy. But aside from that, there was no real way to rehearse. This was a one-time-deal type of situation. And Harry felt he was as prepared as he was ever going to be.

Even so, the most troubling of all - his scar was acting up again.

Harry was strong enough at Occlumency to keep Voldemort out, for the most part. But tiny little whispers of pain would still occasionally eek through. Since his head had been so quiet all sixth year, Harry knew Voldemort was sending him these messages on purpose, and the meaning was plain: Voldemort was telling Harry that he was coming for him. And the advance knowledge of the inevitable meeting was designed to be torture.

Harry was standing at the precipice of his destiny. He had been waylaid, right at the edge, for weeks.

He didn't want to die. He had so much to live for. He could still see that vision of his future: beautiful red-headed wife, small house, children, freedom. He clung to it whenever the fear would get to him. But now, when he thought about it, his body ached and his blood pounded. He could tell he was drawing closer and closer to the moment when the verdict would be pronounced. And he felt as though his soul were stretched taut.

Needless to say, the stress was getting to him.

He hadn't felt this horrible since his fifth year. And he knew he had become a right bastard to deal with. He was grouchy, short-tempered and was lashing out at his friends again. And he hated himself for it.

He was lashing out the most at Ginny.

He couldn't help it. Every time he saw her, his emotions raged out of control. She represented everything he wanted and everything he could lose in one tiny, beautiful, infuriating package. Sometimes he would cling to her. Other times he would scream at her. Usually she could take it, finding the right words, whether they be whispered against his ear or hollered at him from across the room, to bring him back down. But every once in a while, he knew he had hurt her.

Tonight had been one of those times.

The twins had invited Ginny and Ron out for lunch in Hogsmeade, even suggesting they use the old tunnel through the witch, so that no one would spot them leaving the castle. Harry's answer had come almost immediately: no way in hell.

"But, Harry," Ginny had said, sportingly, "you keep saying yourself that you don't think Hogwarts is safe."

"Hogwarts has its weaknesses. But going out in the middle of the day, with your brothers, who always draw attention to themselves, is downright asinine."

Apparently being called asinine didn't sit well with Ginny, and she had shouted at him, "I miss my family, you big prat. Don't you understand that?"

And Harry had gone off. His voice had dripped icy sarcasm. "No, I guess I don't know what it must be like to miss your family. Seeing as poor pathetic Harry never had one."

The shock on her face and the hurt look in her eyes had immediately told Harry of his mistake. She had meant the comment plainly - this was the longest she and Ron had ever been isolated from the rest of the Weasley clan and she missed them. Especially since Percy had been killed the previous summer - Harry knew Ginny had tried to keep in closer contact with her other brothers. She hadn't intended it to be a biting remark as Harry had interpreted it. And he should have known better. They fought, sometimes heatedly, but she had never once thrown his past in his face. And she had certainly never insulted him over his status as an orphan.

Knowing he had about a minute before Ginny's shock and hurt coalesced into rage, he had decided to get out. He'd turned, muttering something about seeing her later, and marched through the portrait hole.

Trudging around the grounds, kicking the occasional stone when he found one, Harry wasn't sure leaving had been the right move. Maybe he should have stayed so they could fight it out. But maybe it was better that they both have a chance to cool off, before they said anything further.

He was kind of hoping she might come out to find him. She could make herself feel better by glaring at him and telling him he was a berk. And he would nod and accept it, because her presence would make him feel better, by silently acknowledging that even though he might be a berk, she understood why he was acting that way and that it wasn't really who he was.

Then they could snog a bit. Or find a private corner and do a bit more. And that always made them both feel outstanding.

He stole a quick glance down at his watch. It was a gift from Ginny the year before, and it kept him appraised of her general location at all times. Apparently she was still somewhere inside the castle. Harry muttered, "Bollocks," and kicked another stone.

That's when he saw her - Ginny - standing a little ways ahead of him. She was smiling and waving at him, beckoning him to follow. Even if he hadn't checked his watch a moment before, he still would have known instantly that it wasn't her, that it was a trap. There was no way she would look that happy to see him; even if she did come out to make amends. It simply wasn't how they did things.

And so the decision was put before him, and it turned out it was remarkably easy. Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was surely about to come, and followed the faux Ginny across the grounds.

He was walking into a trap, but for the first time he was doing it with his eyes wide open. He was so sodding tired of this whole thing. He wanted it over. Now.

Harry hardly even paid attention to where they were going. It seemed they had a ways to walk, deep into the forest, but that was fine with him. He was already focussing his energy, repeating the chant he had memorized, over and over again inside his head.

When it became clear they were nearing their destination, Harry gave up the pretense and pulled out his wand. While in the end their wands would refuse to do battle, if Harry merely stood idly by, Voldemort would have the chance to strike him down.

Harry was already accessing the natural magic within him, that which was fuelled by his emotions, just as he used to as a child. That same power, which used to protect him from bullies and regrow his hair, would be the key to saving himself the end. It briefly crossed his mind that since Voldemort had organized this meeting, he must also have an alternate plan, but he didn't have the time to think about that.

Harry would never remember very much of the actual confrontation. He was dimly aware of the faux Ginny turning into Belatrix, taking an order from her Master and then laughing dementedly as she danced away. He could also vaguely hear Voldemort speaking to him, possibly telling him of his impending demise, but Harry was already too far gone inside his own head to be affected by the idle banter.

He closed his eyes and started to speak the chant aloud.

Just as he and Dumbledore had discussed the year before, Harry concentrated on all the people who had ever loved him. He didn't just focus on faces, but also on memories and the powerful emotions they brought. He was creating a nexus, asking them all to join him, and he would act as the conduit for all their power.

Almost immediately he felt the spirits of the dead rallying with him: his mother and father, Sirius and Dumbledore. Harry couldn't see them as he had during the Priori Incantatem, but he could feel them all around, and inside his head as well. They were speaking to him: "We're here, Harry." And the voices made him strong.

The connection expanded to those still living: Ginny, Ron and Hermione, the Weasleys and Remus. Harry couldn't hear them as distinctly, but their presence was undeniable. Their spirits were tied with his just as intimately as those coming from beyond.

The combined magic of almost a dozen wizards flowed through him. He could feel it gathering in his chest and surging out through his body. There was so much power swelling within him he wasn't sure how much longer he could contain it. Even as he thought this, a little started to escape from his fingers in wisps of light.

As the light expanded around him, his skin prickled with the electricity. Suddenly the air blazed with fire. Sparks flared against his skin, but didn't burn.

Harry struggled to maintain control; he needed to harness the power just a little bit longer. Just a few more seconds.

Three.

Two.

One.

The pure positive energy erupted from Harry in a wave of wind and flame, hurtling towards its mark with ferocious velocity, seeking out the few drops of innocent blood that still lurked in the madman's veins. The magic latched onto that blood and used it as the fuel to annihilate evil from within.

Voldemort's scream was deafening and the explosive force of his combustion ripped through the air, knocking Harry backwards and cracking his ribs.

Then, as though time were in a vacuum, all was silent. The destiny, which Harry had spent his entire life waiting to meet, was over in a matter of minutes.

No one ever realized that Harry's heart had stopped beating for a time. Not long enough to do any permanent harm, but for about half a minute his body completely shut down. Then, as if by magic, his heart burst to life and his lungs gasped for air.

But even after he was found, and desperately shaken, and slapped, and screamed at - he would not wake.

Until now.

The return to consciousness was slow and hard. It started with dreams. Dreams of being awake, when he really wasn't. Dreams that he was late for something. Ones of people being in the room with him, but he couldn't manage to speak. That his friends were calling to him, they were annoyed with him for oversleeping, but he still couldn't muster the will to crawl out of bed. So when he actually managed to open his eyes and find himself in a softly lit haze, he wasn't entirely sure it was real.

Then he started to notice things that were different: the dryness in his mouth and throat, the way his muscles ached, the heaviness of the blanket. And a strange click-clacking that instantly reminded him of Hermione knitting an endless stream of hats, way back in fourth year.

"Is someone there?" he managed to croak.

A woman's voice gasped, practically right beside his ear. "Mr. Potter! Welcome back. Your family is going to be so relieved to hear you're awake."

Harry's glasses were instantly pressed into his hand. As he put them on, an eager-looking middle-aged witch loomed over him. She had curly blonde hair and a round face, and Harry had never seen her before in his entire life. He blinked at the unfamiliar woman, confused. "My family?"

She smiled broadly and started bustling about, readjusting his blanket. "The Weasleys. Only family members are allowed to visit here in the Magical Comas Ward, I'm afraid. Headmistress McGonagall insisted that the Weasleys should be considered yours. Though I daresay, I don't think the Admitting Witch had any idea what she was getting into when she struck the bargain. It has been quite the parade of people visiting you every day. I can barely manage to get them to go home at night."

That was an insane amount of information to take in all at once. The one thing that Harry was able to digest was that it seemed he was in the hospital and had been for some time. That was troubling to say the least. "How long have I been here?"

The witch sighed and shook her head. "Sixteen days. I was starting to get a little worried about you," she said as she started fussing with what looked like ingredients on the table next to his bed.

Harry stared at her. Finally he couldn't stand it any more. "Who ARE you?"

She turned to him and smiled, holding out a beaker of potion. "I'm your Personal Healer, Amanda Gobshank. Here, take this, it should help you to feel more like yourself."

Harry took the cup and sniffed. It smelled like mint. "Why do I need a Personal Healer if I have been in a coma?"

Madam Gobshank sat back down in her chair and returned to her knitting. As she did, she answered conversationally, "Normally I would agree with you, but the Ministry didn't want you left alone for a second, so they hired me to sit with you during the night. There is also a Security Wizard outside the door. Quite the foreboding chap, if you ask me. He makes sure no reporters or other onlookers can sneak in to get a look at you." She looked back up and gestured to the medicine still in his hand. "Drink up, I can't let you eat until that's been in your system for a couple hours."

Harry obliged and took a sip. "Why am I not at Hogwarts?" Really, it didn't make any sense - he was at Hogwarts when he was hurt, wasn't he?

"Oh, the Ministry insisted. They wanted to make sure you had the absolute best care available."

Wanted to maintain some control over his life, more like, Harry thought. He had no doubt that Dumbledore had hired the very best in Madam Pomfrey. He wouldn't have settled for anything less for the well-being of his students. Realizing the tone of his thoughts meant he actually was starting to feel like himself, Harry downed the rest of his drink. Madam Gobshank smiled.

A few hours later, Harry was showered and back in bed with a new pair of hospital robes. He was finally, blessedly, alone. He'd nearly thrown a fit when his brand new Personal Healer had insisted on standing right outside his stall with towels and then, to his utter mortification, helped him get dressed. Currently she was off fetching his breakfast and, now that it was a "decent hour," notifying his family of his recovery.

Despite being happy to have a moment to himself, if only just to breathe in peace, Harry couldn't wait for Madam Gobshank to return with his breakfast. He was starving. He wanted eggs, sausage, a few rashers of bacon and maybe a couple pancakes on the side. And he was going to drown the whole thing in loads of syrup.

Perhaps he could even have a knickerbocker glory for dessert. He'd had one once, when he was ten, and the massive treat would really hit the spot. Harry realized such extravagance for breakfast might seem a bit strange, but he hoped he could talk his Healer into the idea. Her exuberantly friendly nature gave him hope she would be willing to make the exception. Besides, there was the rather remarkable circumstance of his still being alive - and if nothing else, that deserved some ice cream. If she turned out to be a real stickler, he supposed he could hold off until lunch.

When his tray was finally placed in front of him, the disappointment was enormous. Harry stared down at the plain toast, apple sauce and tea in abject misery.

"Well, what did you expect? Waffles and whipped cream?" Actually, he hadn't thought of waffles, but now that she had mentioned it... "You haven't had solid food in your system for over two weeks, let's start slow." The pat on his shoulder, despite its kind intention, did nothing to make him feel any better.

Harry ate his toast as slowly as possible in an effort to pass the time. He knew it wouldn't be long before his friends arrived, but all the same, he was filled with nervous energy waiting for them.

And Madam Gobshank wasn't helping. Her level of familiarity with him was making Harry feel terribly uncomfortable. He supposed he could understand - she had sat with him through the night for half a month. Perhaps she felt as though she knew him. But from his perspective they had just met, and suddenly she was acting like his mother, complete with having seen him naked.

Suddenly, the door to his room burst open and Harry barely had time to put down his teacup before a squealing bushy-haired best friend landed on top of him. For the first time that Harry remembered, rather than feeling a bit awkward, he wrapped his arms around Hermione and really enjoyed the hug. When he managed to get her hair out his face, he noticed Madam Gobshank quietly excusing herself, and Ron coming to stand beside his bed.

After a few moments, Hermione pushed herself up to sit beside him. Tears were already welling in her eyes as she said, "You were amazing, Harry."

Harry smiled at her and laughed. "How would you know?"

"Well, he's dead, isn't he?" Ron joked.

Hermione turned to glare at her boyfriend, but quickly returned her serious gaze to Harry. "Because we could feel you. We didn't know exactly what was happening, but we felt connected to you, and everyone else. And we could tell we were sharing our magic with you, giving it over to you, and sense all that power surging."

Harry was a little stunned. He hadn't understood exactly how the spell would work from everyone else's perspective. "You could really tell all that?"

"Yeah," Ron answered. "It was pretty wicked that spell you did. The end was weird though. It was like I was empty inside. I couldn't feel anything at all for a minute there."

Hermione looked a bit clinical. "It was so intense, like an explosion, and then it just went blank." Her mood shifted back as she took his hand and seemed about to cry again. "And Harry, you saved us all."

Harry snorted. He was a little self-conscious with how earnest she seemed. "Well, you know, destiny and all that."

"But Harry, you really did," Hermione insisted. "Voldemort wasn't just there for you. It was meant to be a slaughter."

Ron scratched the back of his neck. "The whole school was lousy with Death Eaters."

"Whatever you did to Voldemort," Hermione continued, "anyone who had a Dark Mark, it hurt them too. They were all writhing around on the ground in absolute agony for an hour at least. It was almost ugly to watch."

Ron snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, if they weren't all such nasty buggers. Made it right easy rounding them all up though."

Harry suddenly found he didn't really want to talk about the battle and searched for a way to change the subject. He frowned at Hermione, "Hold on a second. How did you get in?" He had been a little worried she might not be allowed, since she wasn't a member of the Weasley family.

Hermione immediately flushed scarlet and ducked her head. "Well," she looked back up at him and rolled her eyes nervously, "Ron sort of told them we were engaged. Not that we are or anything. It was just a story so we could visit you together."

Ron coughed. His ears were turning a dangerous shade of red. "So, Harry, mate, how are you feeling?"

Harry grinned at his embarrassed friends. "Pretty great, actually. Where's Ginny?"

Hermione looked a little guilty. "She's just outside. We're only allowed to visit you two at a time, and she said we could go first."

"She's acting all nervous and weird actually," Ron added. "And she was completely barmy the entire time you were out. If you could do us all a favour and not go unconscious for weeks at a time again, that would be swell."

Hermione rounded on Ron. "Oh that's nice. I know how I would feel if you were in a coma for two weeks, but maybe I can't expect the same from you."

Ron held out a hand in an attempt to squelch the tirade. "Hermione, it's different and you know it. All the Healers told us Harry was going to be okay, that he just needed to rest. I don't know why Ginny couldn't take some comfort from them."

Hermione scoffed. "Because maybe Ginny's actually perceptive enough to know that sometimes people tell you what you want to hear."

Ron looked shocked at the very idea. "You mean you think the Healers were lying to us?"

"Not exactly lying. But they had never dealt with a situation exactly like Harry's before, and we all understood that. The best they could tell us was that it was likely he would make a full recovery, but there was no real way for them to know for sure." Suddenly, as though just remembering he was still in the room, Hermione turned back to him to add, "No offense, Harry."

Ron put a hand protectively on Harry's shoulder. "Well, they could have asked me. I could have told all of you that he was going to be just fine."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry muttered.

Despite being happy to see his friends, even content to hear them bicker as if everything were perfectly normal, Harry found he was aching to see Ginny. He was sure she would be laughing at him. And he was looking forward to the barrage of "I told you so's," that she was certain to hurl in his direction. Besides, when she had first offered to make him a wager regarding his survival, she had promised losing the bet would be worth his while. And, Harry decided gleefully, it was about time that his relentless teasing about that particular vow officially began.

The problem was he wasn't sure how to essentially dismiss his oldest friends so that he could get in some snuggling action with his girlfriend. Not without sounding rude, anyway.

"Harry, are you listening? I asked you a question." Hermione was staring at him, in a way that clearly indicated he had drifted off.

Harry coughed. "Sorry. What?"

"I asked if you would consider allowing one of the Healers to write a paper on your condition."

And suddenly it was easy. "Guys, I love you and all, but seriously, get out."

"Harry?" They were both looking equally confused by his shift in mood.

Harry worried he might be turning a bit red after his outburst. "I'm sorry. It's just I really want to see Ginny. If that's okay, I mean."

"Of course, Harry," Hermione quickly apologised as she got off the bed.

After another hug and assurances that they would be back later to visit him, Hermione moved towards the exit.

Ron shot Harry a wink and a grin as he nagged his girlfriend on the way out the door. "Brilliant, Hermione. Only you would find a way to bring up homework the morning a bloke finally wakes up from a coma."

A few moments later, Ginny entered the room slowly. And quietly. Almost as though she were unsure of herself somehow. It definitely wasn't the entrance Harry had been expecting. As she hovered by the foot of his bed, he decided to proceed with an encouraging, "Hey."

"Hey," she said back, as she moved towards him and took his hand. She immediately intertwined her fingers with his. "Can I get up there with you?"

"Definitely." Harry immediately made room for Ginny to climb up on the bed. As she rested her head on his shoulder, he tried for a joke. "Sorry I missed your birthday."

Ginny gave a slight smile. "That's alright. We missed yours too. And we haven't exactly managed to make a tradition of it."

It was true - three weeks before Harry's birthday the year before, Percy Weasley had been killed. Despite it being the first birthday Harry had ever spent in the company of friends, the day passed almost unrecognized. It had seemed as though no one remembered, and there was absolutely no way Harry was going to bring it up. It wasn't until two days later, when a notice came from the Ministry about an appointment for his Apparation test, that Ron and Hermione had realized their mistake and apologized.

On the evening of the 31st however, after supper, Ginny had quietly taken him to one of their favourite rooms upstairs and presented him with his gift. It was a watch, only with an extra hand that moved like the needle of a compass. It hadn't taken Harry long to realize that it was pointing to Ginny, rather than north. "So you'll always know where to find me," she'd told him in a quiet voice.

Harry had realized it must have been an expensive gift and he really hadn't been expecting anything at all considering what Ginny was going through. The best he could do to express this delicately had been to shake his head a little and say, "Gin, you really didn't have to."

Ginny had squeezed his arm and curled up next to him on the floor. "I bought it our last day in Hogsmeade. Percy loaned me the money, actually. He said he knew what it was like to want to buy something nice for the person you're seeing. I think it was his way of trying to apologize, to both of us."

Harry had remained speechless, and continued staring down at the watch, tracing the little arrow with his finger. Finally Ginny had spoken again. "It's probably a little self-centred. But I just thought, this year, if you ever need me, you'll know right where I am."

The lump that had formed in Harry's throat had been terribly painful. "It's perfect."

Eleven days later, Harry gave Ginny the same gift.

Now, with her curled up next to him again, Harry was acutely aware of just how much she had given him over the last two years. "Thank you, Ginevra."

"For what?"

Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny and rested his cheek on her soft hair. "You always believed that I was going to make it, no matter what. And I hung on to that the last couple of years. I think it made me strong enough to handle what I had to do. I'm not sure it would have turned out the same if it hadn't been for you."

Her fingers curled into his shirt. "Ron and Hermione always believed in you too."

Harry nodded a bit. "Ron was steadfast, absolutely. Hermione, well, I think she really wanted to believe, but she couldn't help but see all the possibilities."

Ginny snorted quietly. "Sometimes I think it can't be very fun having to live inside her head."

Harry grinned. "That's for sure. But you were different somehow. It was like you thought my living to a ripe old age was an absolute certainty. And every time you told me I was going to be okay, it felt like it must be true."

"Probably helped that I was sitting in your lap most of the time."

Despite the fact Ginny was trying to make a joke, Harry knew that was at least partly true. Having the safe feeling of her warm body all around him, had somehow made her words seem more powerful. As though he could feel their honesty vibrate inside him.

Harry chuckled a little. He could tell that he was beaming. And he didn't think he had ever beamed before.

Ginny looked up, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What?"

Harry wriggled a little on the bed, pulling her body up closer to his. "I was just thinking, here I've got you in bed with me. What would your mother think?"

Ginny pushed herself up on an elbow to fully glare at him. "She would think you were a right cheeky bugger. I don't believe you, trying to act the cad and it has been what? SIX hours since you woke up from a coma."

"I can't help it. I feel brilliant." It was true - Harry didn't think he had ever felt better. Here he was, his whole life stretching out before him - and it was going to be a long life. He was finally free. He could already taste the happiness - and it was intoxicating. Everything was perfect.

Absolutely perfect.


	2. What's My Line?

What's My Line

On the fourth day following his recovery, Harry was finally allowed to go home to the Burrow. Originally, he was supposed to be released on the third, but a group of Healers had stood over his bed, examining him like some unfathomable specimen all morning, and then had finally balked at the last minute.

Madam Gobshank had patted his shoulder and assured him, "They're just worried because we still don't know what really happened to you, so they want to keep you an extra day to make sure you're back to your full health." She had smiled at him and joked, "No one wants to let you out into the world, only to have you pass out and end up back here, comatose all over again."

Ginny had sat by his side during these conversations, clutching his hand in a vice-like grip.

Harry was glad for her show of support. He hadn't been to the Burrow since the Quidditch World Cup, and he was eager to return to the familiar setting and get on with his life. He was silently pleased to know that Ginny was just as anxious to have him back in her family home, where he belonged.

Now, as he ploughed through his last hospital breakfast, he received a visitor he had been somewhat dreading. There was an important decision he had grappled with over the last few days and it seemed the moment had come when he would have to speak it aloud. As his stomach churned, Harry realized it was going to be more difficult than he had imagined. The last thing he wanted was to let such a staunch supporter down.

Professor McGonagall came bustling into his room, a roll of parchment clasped tightly in her hand. After inquiring about his health, while looking suspiciously misty-eyed, she quickly returned to her brusque facade and launched into the reason for her visit. "Potter, I've brought your application for the Auror program. I didn't want to bother you while you were still in hospital, but I'm afraid you really need to start working on it. The deadline has already passed, but I have no doubt they will make an exception in your case. Even so, training begins on September the first, and we need to get this filed as soon as possible."

As she started spreading out the parchment on his beside table, Harry decided it was best to speak before he lost his nerve. "Professor, I've decided I don't want to be an Auror."

McGonagall froze as she stared at him. "You're not going to apply?"

Harry nodded.

Her lips went very thin as she asked, "May I ask why you have changed your mind?"

Being an Auror was a dream Harry had harboured since he was fourteen, and giving it up was both frightening and hard, but he knew he had to let it go. The very idea now felt terribly wrong. All of his instincts screamed against it.

The last few nights, as he'd entertained the possibility of having to fight for his own survival again, he'd been overcome with a feeling of suffocating exhaustion. Hadn't he just finished the greatest battle of his life? Did he really want to put himself, voluntarily, back in that same horrible position all over again? Even considering it completely killed the buzz of being alive, which he was enjoying immensely - and wasn't ready to let go just yet.

That, and he couldn't even imagine a scenario where handing his life over to the Ministry would ever be acceptable to him. The mere thought nearly had the power to make him feel physically ill.

Now, as he looked at the application spread before him, he realized he would rather spend the next month alone in St. Mungo's than fill that thing out.

But he didn't know how to express that without sounding overemotional, or perhaps a little paranoid, so instead he said, "I'm not sure it's the right path for me, anymore."

McGonagall's expression softened as she regarded him. "Do you know what career you do wish to pursue?"

Harry shrugged. "No, Professor." He hadn't gotten that far, really.

Thoughtfully, McGonagall asked, "Have you ever considered teaching?"

Harry simply stared at her, speechless. Was she really offering what it sounded like?

The older woman graced him with one of her rare smiles. "Albus was always very impressed with the work you did with your D.A. He mentioned it to me a number of times. And, Potter, Hogwarts will always have a place for you, should you want it."

Harry wanted to be certain he was understanding her correctly. "I could be a professor?"

"Not today," McGonagall amended. "But in time. I don't hold with hiring someone quite so young, fresh out of school himself. Severus was the youngest professor the school has seen during my tenure, but that was something of a special circumstance. You should go out, live your life a bit. Acquire a broader experience. Then, in a few years, perhaps you might consider coming back."

Harry wasn't sure. He had always thought of his professors as old. At least much, much older than himself. It was hard to picture himself in such a position. Even so, it was nice to hear an opening would be available to him, should he want it. He said a very grateful, "Thank you, Professor."

McGonagall rolled up the offending parchment and stowed it away in her robes. "And remember, Potter, my door is always open, should you need to discuss these matters further."

Then, in a shockingly warm gesture, she squeezed his arm, before bidding him, "Good day," and making her exit.

Pleasantly surprised by how well the conversation had gone, Harry got out of bed. He wanted to make sure he was dressed and ready to go when his friends arrived. Madam Gobshank had dropped off his release papers and said her enthusiastic goodbyes when she had delivered his breakfast. He was a free man, just as soon as he had a ride out of there. Apparently the recently comatose weren't allowed to Floo or Apparate.

He didn't have long to wait. As he was pulling his shirt over his head, there was a huge commotion out in the hall. Harry watched the door, a little apprehensive about what was happening and who, exactly, was about to walk through.

He didn't need to be nervous - a minute later, Ginny strolled in, a vision of calm beauty. She was wearing a lovely white sun dress, covered in tiny green flowers. Her hair was flowing over her bare shoulders in soft fiery waves. The pink gloss on her lips was a dead give-away that her appearance was no accident. She had fixed herself up for him, and Harry felt his heart swell in his chest. She adored him as much as he did her. And she had come to fetch him home.

Of course, Ron was ruining the idyllic picture a bit as he lectured his baby sister, "Ginny, this isn't school, you can get into serious trouble for attacking a person, right out in the open like that."

Her warm smile faded as she frowned at her annoying brother. "You've been spending too much time with Hermione. I was protecting Harry, wasn't I? With the way the Ministry has been acting, I suspect they might thank me. Besides, the git is already in the hospital, isn't he?"

Just remembering the disturbance in the hall, Harry asked, "What happened?"

Still watching Ginny warily, Ron answered, "Some reporter was trying to levitate a miniature camera through the crack at the bottom of your door."

Harry supposed he should be shocked - he was under full protection after all. "What happened to the Security Wizard?"

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest. "The blighter must have slipped him something - he's snoring away and no one can wake him up."

"Anyway," Ron continued, "Ginny just hexed the guy and now he's on his knees, barfing up fur balls."

Harry smiled at his marvellous girlfriend. "Thanks."

Ginny blushed. "Anytime."

She started to move about the room, checking drawers to make sure he wasn't leaving anything behind. "We saw McGonagall on the way in. What was she here for?"

Harry grimaced. Apparently it was time to start spreading the news, and he was worried it might come as a disappointment. "She brought my Auror application."

Ron nodded. "Oh." In the end, Ron hadn't received all the marks he needed to proceed into the Auror Program, but he had always remained quietly gracious about Harry's continued efforts.

Harry dropped the bomb. "And I told her I was no longer interested."

Ginny stopped what she was doing, looking stunned. She took a few tentative steps towards him. "You're - you're not going to be an Auror?"

Harry shook his head. "No."

Ron appeared positively gobsmacked. "What are you going to do, then?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't know. McGonagall suggested I could be a professor if I wanted, in a few years."

Becoming a little uncomfortable with the way the two of them were still staring at him, mouths hanging open, Harry decided to change the subject. "Where's Hermione?"

Ron frowned. "She had to go to work."

"Work? Already?" Harry knew Hermione had been offered a job at the Ministry. She had practically floated out of her chair when she'd told him about it, but he was still surprised to hear she was starting so quickly.

Sounding a little awkward, Ron explained, "She told them she could start today, you know, back when we thought you were getting out of here yesterday."

Ginny appeared extremely earnest as she added, "She feels pretty rotten about not being here, actually, so don't give her a hard time to tease her. I'm not sure she'll get the joke."

Harry was disappointed, but at the same time he knew Hermione was nearly in a state of ecstasy over starting her career. "It's alright, I guess. I know how happy she is."

Ron snorted miserably. "Yeah, don't know why she was so excited about it, the way those bastards were approaching her right outside your door. You weren't even awake yet."

Harry knew why. Hermione had been offered any division she wanted, and she'd jumped at the opportunity to work in the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Department. During one of her visits she had gone on and on about her hopes to make changes from within. But still, he was a little pleased at Ron's show of loyalty.

Harry took one last look around his room - he was so done with this place.

And apparently his feelings showed, as Ron produced Harry's invisibility cloak from inside the bag he was carrying and held it out to him. "Well, ready to go, then?"

Harry happily donned his disguise. "And waiting."

The Ministry had offered their services to protect Harry from prying eyes while he was at the Weasleys' home, and Harry, grudgingly, accepted. Any reporter, or anyone uninvited for that matter, caught within a kilometre of the Burrow, would be disciplined. There were also a few security measures in place, similar to what existed at Hogwarts - no one would be able to Apparate directly onto the property, and that sort of thing.

Harry understood the nature of the bargain - he would have to make himself available at certain events. He didn't know what those events were yet, and he felt a bit as though he were waiting for the other trainer to drop - but so long as the Ministry kept up their end, he didn't feel like thinking about it today.

Even so, Harry felt himself becoming a little distressed as Ron pulled the car up next to the old garage. Looking out the windshield at the crooked house, with its several chimneys and lopsided sign, Harry asked, "Is anyone going to be here?"

"Nah, just Mum," Ron answered, putting the car in park. "Everyone else is at work."

Ginny turned around in her seat to face him. "We told Mum you might want a bit of time to yourself, instead of walking into a mob."

Opening his door, Ron added, "But I should warn you now, she has a big dinner planned."

Harry swallowed. He supposed he could accept that, so long as he had a few hours to adjust to being back in the real world. He suddenly didn't think he could face a crowd, even a friendly crowd, just yet.

As he approached the gate and took in the familiar yard and the garden he was so fond of, Harry became a little overwhelmed. His chest was tight and the lump in his throat was almost excruciatingly painful. He didn't remember ever crying in his entire life - but he was as close as he had ever been in that moment.

He stopped walking in an attempt to regain his composure, and as he grasped the fence for balance, he understood what was happening to him. This place represented everything he had been fighting for, for the last several years. The chance to come out of the darkness of war plans in The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, and back to the life he had only recently discovered. A simple home, filled to the brim with a loving family. A peaceful existence that was only ever interrupted by the everyday chaos of friendly pranks and Quidditch and garden gnomes.

And it wasn't just for him. The Burrow was the kind of world he had been trying to save for everyone.

Ginny, realizing he had stopped, turned back to him. "You alright?"

Harry shook his head to clear it. "Yeah."

She smiled and extended her hand. "Come on, then."

With only a foot inside the door, Harry found himself enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. He had expected that - Mrs. Weasley had made a similar scene the first time she had visited him at the hospital.

Now, moments before he was about to suffocate, the plump witch pushed him back and examined him. "Harry! Let me take a look at you." Apparently deciding he was still in fine condition, she attempted to brush his hair into place. Her eyes brimmed with tears, which Harry was extremely grateful to see she managed to hold back. But she soon gave up the facade of straightening his shirt, and hugged him again.

"Come on, Mum," Ron moaned. "Let him breathe. He didn't take down Voldemort only to have you hug him to death."

"Alright, alright," Mrs. Weasley clucked, mercifully releasing him. She wiped her hands on her apron and muttered, "Really, acting as though it's something to be embarrassed about, being happy to have the boy home."

She made her way over to the other side of the kitchen, looked up and said, "Now shoo. All of you, out."

Harry was relieved to see Mrs. Weasley back to herself, but was shocked all the same. They were being dismissed so soon? What about lunch?

As though reading his expressing, Mrs. Weasley tutted, "I know you only just arrived, Harry, but really, I need all of you out of the house. I have so much to do before tonight. Here, I've made a picnic for you to take down to the pond." She waved her wand and an enormous basket hurtled across the room, nearly knocking Harry over with its weight.

Actually, an afternoon by the pond sounded brilliant. There was just one thing.

Ron coughed. "Ah, you two go on without me. I need to see a guy, about, ah, about a thing."

If it had been Fred or George, Harry would have taken the phrasing to mean they were smuggling in some new, slightly illegal ingredient for their shop. As it was, Harry assumed Ron was merely awkwardly allowing him some time alone with Ginny.

Harry turned back to Ginny. "Shall we?"

The dangerous smile that lit her features made a direct hit and ricocheted through his entire body.

The walk across the paddock to the small pond on the other side was extraordinary. It was a lovely, warm, sunny afternoon. And all the familiar sights, smells and sounds filled his senses - bringing back memories of two wonderfully carefree summers, and confirming in his mind, again, that this was the life he wanted for his future.

They reached their destination and Ginny spread a blanket out under an old willow, fortunately not of the whomping variety, for the shade. It was a perfect secluded spot, where they could still watch the water lapping at the muddy edge of the pond in the breeze.

Harry slipped off his shoes and socks and wriggled his toes in the grass as Ginny unpacked their lunch. Mrs. Weasley had squeezed in sandwiches, cheese, pasta salad, fruit, cookies and pumpkin juice, and it made quite the display as Ginny brought out item after item.

As they ate, they talked about Ginny's upcoming year at school. She would play Quidditch - but she had no idea if she wanted to be Captain and she wasn't sure if she would have to switch back to Seeker again or not. Harry found it hard to believe - they had only just come home and she would be leaving him again in two short weeks.

Deciding he didn't really want to ponder that thought too heavily, Harry put his apple aside and lay down on his back, staring up into the tree's gnarled branches.

Ginny puttered about, tidying up, then lay down beside him. For a few minutes, they just enjoyed the silence.

Harry turned to his side and propped himself up on his elbow, gazing down at her sweet face.

Ginny cupped his cheek with her hand. "Hmmm, Professor Potter. I think you would make a wonderful teacher, Harry."

Harry frowned. "You do?"

She nodded, as though it made absolute sense. "You had a very comfortable classroom. I felt safe to try things - rather than worried about not doing something perfectly the first time. And you were always helpful and gently encouraging - never condescending. I never felt embarrassed about getting something wrong, I just wanted to learn."

Harry still wasn't entirely convinced. "It might have helped that I was really a student."

"I suppose," Ginny agreed. "We thought of you as one of us. But I'm sure you could manage the same atmosphere with anyone." There was a slight pause before she asked, "Do you want to be a teacher?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, honestly. I've never considered it. But it's not like I have to decide now anyway." He fiddled absently with a lock of her hair. "If, in a few years, I decide I want to settle down and share my infinite wisdom with the next generation of wizards, I can give it go."

She smiled at him impishly. "And you know, I always loved the way you used to walk around and watch us."

That was a bit of a surprise. "You did?"

"Mmmhmm. Very authoritative and sexy."

"Oh, really." Harry attempted to waggle his eyebrows at her.

Ginny laughed at him hysterically. "Don't! Those things are massive. You could hurt someb..."

Harry stopped her with a kiss.

Though it started chaste, it soon turned to heat, as mouths quickly opened and tongues sought each other out. Her hands ran through his hair and clutched at his sides. It felt as though he had been dying to have her alone for ages and he was starving for her. And God, he wanted all of her.

Harry worked the buttons, down the front of her dress, and slipped his hand inside, over the soft skin of her stomach and up to the cotton barrier he had grown so fond of over the last year. Idly he wondered what colour it would be today, and found himself getting thirsty as an image of what would be happening in the next few minutes filled his head. Seeing himself sliding one strap down as his tongue slowly slid along the curve...

"Harry, wait." Harry was instantly dragged back to a harsh reality, where they weren't even kissing anymore, as Ginny tugged at his wrist.

"What's wrong?"

Ginny sat up abruptly and pulled her knees to her chest. "I just wanted to tell you, in case you were thinking... That - that I don't think we should go all the way today."

Worried by how uncertain she seemed, and wanting to put her at ease, Harry immediately responded, "I wasn't counting on anything." Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. "Alright, maybe I was hoping, a little." But Voldemort was gone. They were finally free. They were back at the Burrow for the first time in three years. And this was a bloody perfect day.

He tried for a joke. "Don't girls always want the first time to be special? This -" he gestured at their glorious surroundings. "You have to admit this is special."

Ginny smiled a little. "It is special." She appeared a little sad as her gaze moved over the pond. "It's just a little soon for me after... With everything that has happened, it would be too much right now."

While Harry could understand the courteous nature of what Ginny had done, by telling him right away, it was still weird for her to balk at such an early stage. He had seen her breasts before. Many times before. As often as he had been able to manage, actually. Besides, they had always asked each other before they tried something new, and had seemed to be somewhat naturally aware of the other person's comfort level and limits. "I would have asked first, you know."

Her eyes came back to him. "I know." She took his hand. "I just didn't want you to be disappointed later."

Suddenly Ginny's mood seemed to shift, and she was back to her mischievous self, as she moved up to her knees and announced, "We can still do other stuff though."

"Oh really," Harry grinned.

"Mmhmm." She pushed on his chest playfully and ordered, "Lie down."

Their sexual progress to date had been rather slow. For one thing, life at Hogwarts was sadly lacking in anything even distantly related to privacy. Sure, Harry spent many an hour thinking about the Room of Requirement in various fantasy scenarios, but so many people knew about it thanks to the D.A. that there was absolutely no guarantee someone wouldn't walk in on them. It was more as if they would be asking for it really. And Harry was positively horrified of being caught with his pants down. Or Ginny's skirt up, for that matter. The mere thought had the power to completely nullify the need for a cold shower. Or a long warm one.

Still they had put a shocking amount of effort into finding secluded spots where they could have a few reckless minutes alone. Again though, all clothing remained at least loosely in place. But they were getting really, really good at snogging. And Ginny, it seemed, always walked away from these encounters blissfully satisfied. Harry kind of loved that she had no problem unabashedly wrapping her legs around him to get what she wanted. And she always tried to return the favour. Sometimes it worked, but, well, the truth of the matter was, it was hard to have too much fun when he was trapped inside a pair of trousers. Not to mention the potential horrors of a zippered fly. Harry was starting to think perhaps women were exaggerating about their lot in life due to the whole pain of perpetuating the human species thing, because this was at least one instance when it must be way better to be a girl.

The serious experimenting had always taken place during breaks from school.

The weeks following Percy's death had been very quiet and strange. Ginny had mentioned him every once in a while, but she hadn't really wanted to talk about it much. Harry completely understood. He was simply grateful she hadn't decided to lock herself away the same way he had after losing Sirius. He still wasn't sure he would have known how to handle it.

It had been a rather frightening time for both of them. Ginny had lost her brother. Harry had felt his destiny rushing towards him. And they had both effectively lost the support system of her parents.

They had taken to finding forgotten rooms upstairs and silently comforting each other the one way they knew how.

These were memories that were never far from Harry's mind. Clumsy, awkward discoveries, that almost always made him feel a little sick with nervousness the first time. But their shyness always melted away, to be replaced with excited curiosity and later, blissful satisfaction.

Now, as she eagerly tugged his pants down his legs in the warm August afternoon, he was reminded of that raw enthusiasm.

A trail of deliberate wet kisses down his stomach told him of her intent, and left him shivering in anticipation. There was no way in hell that he would dream of stopping her, but as the breeze tickled his bare skin, he hoped that no one decided to take a swim. Then, with an endearingly chaste kiss, all concerns faded away.

She had tried this once before, last Christmas, and that had been amazing. But he could tell already that this time would be different.

Instantly, he knew that she had been utilizing the girls' dorm research exchange again. Harry could never make up his mind how he felt about that particular female institution. He hated the idea that she might talk about him, but at the same time, he had also experienced the benefits. He also tried to cling to the hope that Hermione didn't participate - but he knew that was in vain. Ginny and Hermione were close, had been for several years, there was no way he could kid himself that they weren't sharing knowledge. And considering that Harry, himself, still turned to Hermione whenever he had a problem with Ginny, the amount of information that she probably had on him was deeply embarrassing.

Slowly, as Ginny moved over him, he was filled with pleasure that he would never be able to describe.

Forget it, she could talk to whomever she wanted.

This was going to have to be the day that he swallowed his nerve and tried to return the favour. He was worried he might be absolute rubbish at it, but he was starting to understand that it didn't matter - they would figure it out together. And maybe he could actually be so bold as to simply ask her...

"Is that good?" Ginny's quiet voice, echoing his thoughts, startled him a little.

"God, yes," he breathed.

Then all he could do was feel.

A few hours later, Harry woke to a curious sound. Rain. They were still under the canopy of the tree, so they weren't getting wet just yet, but all the same, they should probably head back. Ginny was curled up at his side. He reached down and stroked her cheek. "Gin, it's raining."

She slowly blinked at him with a lazy smile. "Hmmmm." Then, taking note of their surroundings, she sat bold upright. "Harry, what time is it?"

"Don't know," he shrugged.

Ginny looked at her watch. "It's after four! We need to go."

Quickly gathering their things, they headed out into the storm.

They only made it a couple of meters before Ginny shouted, "Harry, wait!"

He turned to find Ginny grinning at him ridiculously, hair already plastered to her face. She ran the few steps forward, wrapped her arms up around his neck and pulled him down for a long kiss. "I just wanted you to know, that was amazing. Really. I had no idea anything could feel so, well, lovely."

Harry felt his chest puff with pride. "Well, it helped to have you moaning instructions at me the entire time."

Ginny's blush was nearly as fiery as her hair. She shoved him awkwardly, then broke into an run for the house.

Harry caught her around the waist just as they reached the gate. They were both soaked through and quite dishevelled. Together they tumbled through the kitchen door, a laughing, wet mess.

Right into a cheering crowd of Weasleys, members of the Order and their closest friends.

Harry found himself swept up into the swarm and passed around. He shook hands with Bill, Charlie, Mundungus Fletcher, Lupin, Moody, Tonks. Everyone was there and they were all thrilled to see him. He was becoming quite dizzy as face after face swam before him, offering congratulations, hugs and pats on the back.

Finally he reached the other end of the room, by the fireplace, and was deposited in front of Hermione. She was biting her lip. "I am so sorry I couldn't be there to pick you up today," she immediately apologized.

"It's alright," Harry assured her. He was simply grateful to have been released from the throng, into the comfortable presence of one of his oldest friends. He might have forgiven her anything. "Where's Ron?"

Hermione glanced around the room, seeming a little worried. "I don't know. He said he had to see someone, but he should be back by now."

As soon as she had uttered the words, the fire roared and Ron came shooting out, covered in soot. He dusted himself off a bit and then glanced up. He was quite pale and looked a little stunned, and it seemed he didn't even notice the large group before him. Which was just as well: the party was in full swing and it didn't appear that anyone other than Harry and Hermione had noticed Ron either.

Hermione instantly reacted in alarm, rushing towards him. "Ron, what is it? What's wrong?"

"N - nothing," he stuttered. "Nothing's wrong. I, ah, I got a job."

"Ron?"

Still in a daze, he continued, "It's an Assistant Coaching position with the Cannons. They sent me an Owl last week. Said they'd seen a few games at Hogwarts and wanted to talk to me. I didn't say anything because, well, you know, I didn't want to jinx it."

Hermione squealed and threw her arms around him and Ron came back to himself a bit. He looked at Harry over her shoulder and said, "Don't worry, mate. I won't tell Mum till after. I won't spoil your big night."

And with those words, as the his party continued to roar in his ears, and Harry watched his two grown-up, fully employed best friends celebrate their own success, a completely unexpected dark thought entered his brain: here he was, Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding World for the second time, his whole long life stretching out before him, and he had absolutely no idea what to do with himself.

This was just bloody perfect.


	3. Family Ties

**Family Ties**

It had happened. Harry had been living a life of leisure at the Burrow for only one week, and already the Ministry had shown up demanding payment for his protection.

Sort of.

It was payment in the form of an award. But from everything Harry had heard so far, it sounded like it was to be quite the affair.

The new Minister of Magic, Henry Whitmyre, had glided into the Weasley home an hour ago, and informed Harry that the Ministry had decided to bestow upon him one of the highest honours: the Order of Merlin, First Class.

Whitmyre was a tall, good-looking man, and he didn't remind Harry of Fudge in the slightest. Rather than presenting himself as a kindly, fatherly fellow, he was much more an elder statesmen. He had a courtly courteous nature. Very posh. Being different than Fudge could only be a good sign, in Harry's opinion. But the fact he was receiving this particular award at all, told Harry that Whitmyre was still a politician at heart.

Once he had delivered the grand news, Whitmyre had quickly made his exit, his robes billowing behind him.

Now Harry was left in the kitchen with Michael Buzzbee, apparently the Head of Ministry Affairs. Though in Harry's opinion, he seemed like a glorified event co-ordinator. He was supposed to be filling Harry in on all the wondrous details.

So far he had caught that the ordeal was to take place at Hogwarts, immediately following Gryffindor's first Quidditch match. "The perfect setting considering your recent history, don't you think?"

Harry merely grunted. He wasn't really listening. Ginny was sitting beside him, openly glaring at the man, and Harry assumed she was paying rapt attention on his behalf. He had other things to think about.

Harry wasn't certain how he should feel about this whole business.

The Order of Merlin, First Class.

It was an honour that was supposed to be reserved for people that had demonstrated particular devotion to the principals of wizards living harmoniously with Muggles. It was true that perhaps it had lost some of its prestige over the years. Pettigrew had been given the award "posthumously" for his alleged confrontation with Sirius. Even Lockhart had fallen into it somehow. But in both cases, that was only Third Class.

The nagging thought that Harry couldn't escape was the idea that this was one of the accolades that had distinguished Dumbledore from other ordinary Wizards. And HE had dedicated decades of his life to the relations between Muggles and Wizards - both in battle and politics. He was an intellectual, a powerful wizard, a great man.

All Harry had done was kill someone. And he really didn't see how murdering a man, even a madman, made him worthy.

Maybe if he'd had some choice in the matter. But he hadn't. Voldemort had chosen him. Harry hadn't faced off with the Dark Lord because he had wanted to. He had spent two years resenting the fact that it had to be him. Furious with destiny for putting him in this position.

And when it came right down to it, it was kill or be killed. Didn't survival reek of his own self-interest? It certainly wasn't nobility.

How did that make him as great as Albus Dumbledore?

Then there was the slight detail that Harry didn't think this award was really about him at all. It was a rather extravagant way for the Ministry to give the all-clear to the rest of the Wizarding World. A signal that dark times were officially over and it was time to celebrate and move on. Also, and more disgustingly, the Ministry was buying back their own reputation. Outwardly showing they recognized Harry as a bonafide hero - hoping everyone might forget the smear campaign launched against him under Fudge.

"Have you gone completely mad?" Ginny's confounded voice broke into Harry's thoughts. And the way her mouth was hanging open, completely agog, Harry could tell he had missed something important.

"What do you say, Harry?" Buzzbee asked jubilantly. "People still talk about how fantastic you were last time. How about a rematch? See if she remembers you. Find out if she holds a grudge."

"It's lunacy!" Ginny stood up out of her chair. "Of course he doesn't want to do it. He was scared out of his wits last time, but he had no choice. He could be killed. Ripped apart. EATEN!" There were few moments when Ginny reminded Harry of her mother, this was definitely one of them.

"Um, I'm sorry," Harry said awkwardly. "What?"

Ginny only rolled her eyes at him, obviously not too surprised his mind had wandered off. "This nutter wants you to fight the Hungarian Horntail from the Triwizard Tournament for your medal."

"Brilliant show, don't you think, Harry?" Buzzbee interjected.

Struck a little dumb by the mere suggestion, Harry weakly offered, "Ah, no, I don't think that sounds like a particularly fantastic idea, actually."

Buzzbee looked dejected, frowning as though to suggest Harry was a terrible spoil-sport. "Alright. How about something a little simpler. We get a more docile breed, a Common Welsh Green, maybe. And have you ride it into the stadium."

Harry just stared.

"Come on, Harry," Buzzbee encouraged. "You're the conquering hero. You need to make your entrance in style. People will talk about it for years. Promise me you'll at least think about it."

Harry swallowed. His palms felt sweaty. Somehow he was coming to the impression this wasn't something he could get out of easily. "I'll think about it."

Ginny scoffed, threw her hands into the air and stormed from the room - obviously disgusted with the pair of them.

Buzzbee nodded towards the door and winked conspiratorially. "Real firecracker, eh? Good luck with that one."

Harry glared. And crossed his arms for good measure. "Don't think I need your luck, thanks."

Realizing he had crossed a line, Buzzbee nodded. And amazingly a bit of the glamourous facade seemed to come down as he leaned forward and said, "Look, I understand you want out of the spotlight. I don't really get it, but I understand that's what you're aiming for. Here's my advice: if you lock yourself away, make yourself into a mystery, it's the same as inviting the press to invade your privacy."

Intrigued against his will, Harry said, "Go on."

Buzzbee smiled. "Think of that chap Lockhart a few years back. Sure witches loved him, but no one was digging through his trash trying to find his underwear. Why? Because he was everywhere. He probably would have Owled out a pair of skivvies to anyone who asked him."

Harry's mouth went dry in horror. "I'm not giving out my underwear to anyone."

Buzzbee held up a hand. "I'm merely saying, put yourself out there, be amenable, let your picture be taken occasionally, and you become less valuable. When Witch Weekly calls, and they will call, do the interview. Make sure it includes a few photographs of you looking handsome." He grinned wryly. "And though I suspect it may come naturally to you, don't look broody. Smile. Smile until your teeth hurt. Don't sit in the back of the restaurant, hiding in the shadows. Get a table out in the open. And if anyone asks for an autograph, chat them up and give it to them."

As though it all made perfect sense, he continued, "So do this thing with the dragon for me. And the press conference afterwards."

"Press conference?" Harry blurted.

But Buzzbee was already standing and fastening his robe. "It may take a year or two, but believe me, Harry, people will get bored of you."

After a firm handshake and a further promise from Harry that he would think about it, Buzzbee was gone.

Left alone in the kitchen, Harry wasn't sure what to think. Maybe it was the glimmer of hope that people might get bored of him, but suddenly, riding a dragon didn't seem quite so terrible.

On impulse, he dashed up to his room and started tearing through his trunk. Now that the twins had their own place above their store, Harry had been given their old room. It was an interesting space, filled with oddly coloured scorch marks of varying sizes, and Harry hadn't fully moved in yet.

Ginny came in behind him. "What are you doing?"

His head fully shoved inside the trunk as he pushed things about, he answered, "Looking for my dragon."

"Your dragon?" She sat down on his bed.

"Yeah." Harry leaned back on his heels and started dumping stuff out on the floor. "For the Triwizard Tournament we had to pick a little statue out of a sack to determine which dragon we would face."

Ginny frowned. "Why do you want it?"

"For luck." Harry grinned, a little embarrassed. "I know. It seems silly. But I'll have you remember I not only survived, but I also scored fairly well, so it seems like it might be lucky." Ginny just stared at him. "What?"

"You're actually looking forward to this, aren't you?" She actually sounded a little hurt.

Harry instantly knew the correct answer was no. And while that was true, he wasn't really looking forward to it, he was starting to suspect he wasn't dreading it nearly as much as Ginny. He remembered how he had felt the night of the first task. "Dragons aren't so bad, Gin."

She stood up. "Are you kidding me?"

Harry tried to reason with her. "Look at your own brother, Charlie."

Ginny looked at him as though he were deeply stupid. "Charlie studies dragons. He works on a dragon reserve. He doesn't try to ride the bloody things."

"Really?" Harry asked. She nodded. "Not ever?"

She answered with a resolute, "No."

"Huh. Well someone must have at some point." He would have to get Hermione to look that up for him - dragon riding techniques. "And the Ministry isn't going to do something to get me killed at their own event." That was hardly the publicity they were looking for.

"The Ministry might not," Ginny allowed. "But I don't like this Buzzbee guy. He seems twitchy. I don't think he would mind if the dragon did eat you, provided it was a spectacular affair."

"Believe me," Harry said, turning back to his task, "he would lose his job if I got eaten."

"Maybe." Ginny sat back down, apparently giving up the fight. "But I still think he'd find it thrilling if you were at least chewed on a little for extra drama."

"Damn it," Harry muttered, finally reaching the bottom of his trunk.

"What?"

Harry ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. "I think I know where it is?"

As he had acquired more things from his time at Hogwarts, Harry had taken to hiding rarely used items under the loose floor boards in his room in his Uncle's house, leaving his trunk for the things he wanted to use on a daily basis. His last departure from Privet Drive had been a little abrupt, and he hadn't exactly packed with much care. Of course, the same could be said of several of the previous years, but this last time had been even more stressful than usual.

On a hot day in the second week of July, Pig had arrived mid-morning with a letter from Ron. All it had said was, "Percy's gone. He was killed last night."

An hour later, Errol had appeared at his window. The small piece of parchment tied to his leg had merely asked, "Harry?" in Ginny's hand. Harry had imagined he could almost hear her voice, and how lost she sounded.

He had sat in his room waiting - wishing that he knew how to Apparate and hating how unfair it was that he was stuck there. He had known that someone must be coming to get him. No matter what protection his Aunt's home offered him, surely Dumbledore and the Order would have the decency not to keep him there under those circumstances. But that small bit of faith had done little to help him through the wait.

He had been anxious to go to both Ginny and Ron, but at the same time he had been terrified of what he would be walking into. All too well he remembered the terrible night Mr. Weasley had been hurt, and Mrs. Weasley's Boggart. The time had finally come when the family he loved so much had actually been broken. Permanently.

And he had no idea what he was supposed to do for Ginny. No one had been able to help him in the days following Sirius' death - not the people closest to him anyway. He was finally given a glimpse from the other point of view. It was terrible to want so much to help, when really, he could do nothing. There were no words. He felt a little paralysed by his own inadequacy.

He had spent most of the day in a daze, absently putting things in his trunk - until finally, around midnight, Lupin and a few others had shown up to escort him back to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. For the very first time Harry hadn't even been able to produce an internal smirk at the aptness of the name.

Now, a year later, he was realizing there were a few things he had left behind. And he hated the idea of any part of his new life being hidden away under his Aunt and Uncle's tyrannical roof.

But he wasn't sure he wanted to make the trip alone.

He looked up Ginny. "Would you come with me?"

She nodded, stoically. "Alright."

Harry gave her a grim smile. It was time to say goodbye to number four, Privet Drive.

Three days later, Harry was standing with Ginny in front of the large square house with the low garden wall. It was just as immaculate as it had ever been, now with the pristine addition of a perfectly trimmed white rosebush on either side of the front door.

They hadn't called ahead. Their visit would be a surprise. And Harry had decided it was best to arrive in the middle of the afternoon. This way Uncle Vernon should be at work. And Dudley, well, where Dudley may be was anyone's guess, out carousing with his friends, work, possibly prison, but Harry figured it was most likely he wouldn't be at home. Meaning he would only have to contend with his Aunt Petunia.

Ginny squeezed his hand. "Ready?"

No. Not really. "I guess," he said and they walked up to the door and rang the bell.

A few moments later the door was yanked open by his Aunt. There was no polite pretence. She obviously expected to find someone trying to sell her something and she fully intended to run off whoever had dared to interrupt her cleaning.

The moment Petunia's eyes fell on them she let out a horrified gasp and dropped the vase she had been holding. It landed on the floor with a thundering smash. Harry was surprised at his Aunt's unusual reaction, but when he caught a glimpse of Ginny and himself in the hallway mirror, he supposed he could figure it out. He knew that his mother and father had visited with the Evan's family at least once, after all.

The three of them stood there, staring at each other, Petunia's horse-face as pale as Harry had ever seen it, for what seemed like hours.

Finally, Ginny stepped forward. She took her wand out of her back pocket, muttered a quick, "Reparo," and returned the vase to Petunia's hands. She smiled prettily. "There you go. No harm done."

Petunia glanced down at the magically repaired vase, back up at Ginny, and her usual look of revulsion quickly returned. She glared at Harry. "I suppose you are back here to stay. You know very well I have no intention of putting up one of your peculiar little friends."

"No, Aunt Petunia." Harry answered, as politely as he could muster. "The man that was after me, Voldemort, he's gone. Gone for good this time. You can tell Uncle Vernon that I won't be coming back here. I won't be bothering you and your family anymore."

A strange look flickered across her face. "You - you're safe now?"

Harry smirked. He couldn't help it. "As safe as I'll ever be, yes. You are free of your promise to protect me."

As though viewing the long ago agreement as a hideous weakness and resenting Harry for bringing it up, Petunia narrowed her eyes at him and huffed, "What do you mean by showing up here, then?"

This would be the hard part - having to ask for one more favour. "The last time I was here, I left a few things behind. If you let me come in to get them, you won't ever have to hear from me again."

Petunia gripped her vase possessively; possibly debating the safety of allowing two wizards into her home against the obvious benefit of never having to see any of their kind again. "Very well," she muttered, stepping aside and granting them entrance.

Before Harry and Ginny were even fully inside, Petunia was already striding down the hall. "You know the way," she called out, before disappearing behind the kitchen door.

Ginny was staring after the older woman's departure, appearing a little stunned.

Harry tried to make light of the situation. "So that was my Aunt Petunia. A charming woman, really." Ginny turned to him, not looking any less aghast. He coughed awkwardly. "Well, then, it's ah, it's upstairs."

The room was just as he had left it. Apparently the Dursley's had kept it, convinced that he would descend upon them at any minute. If he didn't hate them so much, Harry might have felt guilty for not keeping them appraised of his whereabouts.

Harry immediately made his way over to the bed, and the loose floorboards underneath. Hiding below, he found text books from his first years at Hogwarts, a few chocolate frog cards, his Omnioculars, and kept safe in an old sock, his miniature Hungarian Horn Tail. He watched the dragon, with the number four on its side, walk around his hand and roar ferociously a few times, before stashing it in the bag he had brought.

He could feel Ginny looking about the room, eyeing the locks on the door, and discreetly glancing at the cat-flap every now and then. He knew that the twins had regaled Ginny with the tale of his rescue with the Ford Anglia and how he had been starving in a locked-up room. But he could tell from her quiet demeanour that seeing it all in person was a little different than she had anticipated. He was glad the bars were long gone from the window.

Neither of them spoke a word as he made his way around the rest of the room, checking his desk and his bureau drawers.

After a few minutes, they silently walked back downstairs. But rather than going out the door, for some reason, Harry found himself turning back towards the kitchen. Towards the small door under the stairs.

He had never told anyone, not even Ron and Hermione, about his cupboard.

It was possible that Dumbledore and McGonagall may have known - his first Hogwarts letter had come addressed to "The Cupboard Under The Stairs" after all. But Harry wasn't really certain how the addressing system worked - maybe it was some sort of Charm. Neither professor had ever mentioned it.

And so it had been his secret, and one he had intended to take to the grave. He knew it wasn't right, but he felt ashamed of the fact he had spent ten years living in the small dark space. Locked away by the grown ups who had controlled almost every moment of his life. It made him feel less than human. Unacceptably vulnerable. And certainly less than the capable Wizard he had become.

Even so, confronted by the door in front of him, he felt inexplicably drawn to it. He was overwhelmed by the need to open it up, and see how he fit inside.

Harry opened the door and stepped into the tiny area. He was happy to see that just after the first couple of feet by the door, he to stoop. He had definitely outgrown his childhood home. He bent down, pretending to look for something. He felt naked. Even more exposed than the first time Ginny had actually seen him starkers. And he was desperately trying to resist the urge to stand upright and stretch his arms out from his sides.

Ginny was watching him carefully, and eyeing the door. There were two locks. The deadbolt Vernon had used when he had kept Harry's school things impounded for the summer. And an older one. A simple sliding latch - obviously designed to keep something in, instead of someone out.

Ginny fingered the tarnished device curiously. "Why do the Muggles have so many locks on their cupboard door?"

Harry froze. He tried to stop the guilty look from crossing his face, but it was too late.

"Harry?" Her voice sounded small, frightened. It reminded him oddly of when she had first called his name, years ago, when she woke up in the Chamber. And he knew he had given himself away.

Harry stood up. "Ginny, it's alright."

There were tears in her eyes. "No, it bloody well isn't alright!"

The light behind her started to flicker, and Harry felt a well of panic suddenly yawn inside his belly. "Let's just go."

Ginny looked frantic. She was sucking in air in terrible gasps. He was worried she was about to hyperventilate. Just over her shoulder, a picture of Dudley rattled on the wall, the glass cracking with a hissing snap. "But you were only a little boy!"

Harry stepped out of his cupboard, grabbing her around the waist and tried to drag her towards the door. But in her rage, she was fighting against him.

As tiny as Ginny normally seemed, her weight was damn near impossible to move at that moment. Harry looked around desperately. It seemed as though the walls themselves were shaking. All the pictures were crashing to the floor, the glass crunching under their feet. The hallway mirror shattered, sending shards through the air.

Good Lord, if he didn't get her out of there she was going to bring the house down - possibly with them still inside. He seemed to recall Dudley and his friends watching a movie about that once - he really didn't want to live it.

Petunia emerged from the kitchen and started screaming at the horrifying sight of her perfect foyer being torn apart.

More afraid for Ginny than anything else, Harry shouted over the din, "Get back inside!"

Petunia didn't move - seemingly frozen in terrified awe at the picture Ginny made - clawing at Harry's arms and howling, "What is wrong with you? He was your blood!"

Finally, with great difficulty, Harry reached the door and pulled Ginny, still wrestling like a mad animal, through to the other side.

As they stumbled out into the afternoon sun, the fresh breeze wafted over them, and Ginny appeared to come back to herself a bit. She stopped struggling, stood upright and faced him. Ghastly white and sweaty, she muttered, "I feel sick." She then promptly turned and vomited into one of his Aunt's perfect white rosebushes, just outside the door.

Patting her back in support, Harry wondered if it would be wholly inappropriate to turn her around so she could also hit the one on the other side. As Ginny continued to retch, he caught Petunia peering out the livingroom curtains at them with utter loathing. Harry smiled and waved. As revenge went, it wasn't entirely without poetry.

When Ginny recovered, they ambled about the neighbourhood. Harry didn't trust her to Apparate so long as she was still shaking a bit. And it turned out he was a little happy to have the excuse to walk the familiar streets one last time, as it occurred to him that this was it - he may never have reason to ever come back here.

Eventually they made it to the play park along Magnolia Road and sat on the swings. Swaying a little back and forth, Harry mused that perhaps Dudley and his gang really were in prison. Here it was, nearly the end of summer, and the park had survived unscathed. It seemed impossible that Dudley may have merely grown up.

Ginny quietly broke the silence. "I'm sorry I made such a scene. That hasn't happened to me in years - when Fred and George shut me up in the broom shed my last summer before Hogwarts."

Harry put his feet down, stopping his swing. "Why did they lock you in the broom shed?"

Ginny shrugged casually. "I was ten, and being a pain following them around. They got theirs though. Mum nearly killed them when I blew the roof off the thing. And they never bothered me after that."

Harry pushed off again. "The last time it happened to me was when I was thirteen and I blew up Aunt Marge."

Ginny nearly fell off her seat. "Your aunt exploded?"

Harry's head was suddenly filled with the horrifying image of tiny bits of Aunt Marge plastered all over Petunia's immaculate dinning room. He shuddered. Then he leaned back, gaining more height and laughed. "God, no. That would have scarred me for life. She blew up like a balloon."

They swung for a bit, seeing who could go higher. Then Harry remembered a game he used to watch the other kids play. He told Ginny, "Go as high as you can, then right when the swing reaches the top of its arch, jump." It was satisfying, soaring through the air like a Muggle child. And Harry grinned when he touched down with a thump, a clear twelve feet away.

When Ginny landed beside him laughing, he reached out a hand to steady her.

Sobering, she looked him in the eyes and swallowed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't know how to explain it. "I don't know. It's not who I am anymore." Ginny curled her arms around herself and Harry suddenly realized something. "I think maybe I wanted you to know. Maybe that's why I had to look in that cupboard today."

Ginny stepped towards him, leaning against his chest. Harry stroked her hair and whispered, "And I'm sorry. That probably wasn't the best way to share something like that."

He could feel her nod. "Not if you don't want me to lose my head, apparently." She sniffed and stepped back. "It's okay. I'm glad you did."

Harry cast a last glance around them. Goodbye, Magnolia Road. "Are you ready to get out of here?"

She gave him a small smile. "Definitely."

A few minutes later they were walking up the road to the Burrow. Harry felt the contrast between the rambling house and Privet Drive almost as strongly as the first time he had seen it. And he grinned when he saw it even came with one of his best friends standing by the gate to great them.

When they reached Ron, though, it became clear he wasn't waiting for them at all. He hadn't even seen them. He was in his own world, staring down at a small velvet box clutched in his hand.

"What've you got there?" Ginny asked, by way of a greeting.

Ron handed over the box without even making a sound. Ginny opened it and Harry looked inside. It was a shining silver band, with a tiny glimmering stone set in the middle.

Harry felt his breath catch. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah," Ron answered, sounding almost as surprised.

"Where did you get it?" Ginny asked.

Ron took the box back protectively. "I bought it. Today at work they gave me my first paycheck - and I went straight out and bought this."

Harry ran a hand absently through his hair. "Bloody hell."

"I know." Ron nodded in agreement.

Ginny looked at her brother in awe, seemingly impressed. "You're really going to ask her?"

Ron took a deep breath. "I think so. I mean I have a job now. And we could get a place of our own and that would be really nice. And I don't know, after everything that has happened since, well, since we met, I guess I'm just feeling pretty lucky that we're both still alive. And I don't want to wait anymore, you know?"

"Yeah," Ginny agreed smiling a little. "But I'm not sure that's the best reason to ask someone to marry you."

"Probably not. But I can't help it. I can't even imagine my life with anyone else." He smirked and joked, "And besides, she can always say no if she wants to." Ron suddenly looked dumbstruck with fear. "Wait. What if she says no?"

Harry put a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "She won't say no."

Ron shook his head. "I'm not so sure about that. She's awfully smart."

Harry laughed, he couldn't help it. "If she is too smart to marry you I'm sure she wouldn't have wasted her teen years dating you all this time."

"I didn't mean it like that!" Ron objected. "Bloody wanker. I meant she might want to be a career witch, you know, that sort of thing."

"You're just asking her. It's not like you're setting a date. You can still wait a few years. And besides, even after you do get married you don't have to hurry to have children or anything. It's not like it was when my parent's had me." It had only recently occurred to Harry just how young his parents had been. That perhaps the rush to be married, to have a child, had been because the times were so dark. They had to plunge into their lives, knowing, because of the risks they were taking as part of the Order, they might not have long. In a weird sort of way, Harry wondered if he would have even existed if it hadn't been for Voldemort.

Apparently heartened by Harry's words, Ron stood up to his full height. "Alright. Let's do this."

The three of them went into the house. Unfortunately for Ron, Hermione wasn't home from work just yet.

Possibly worried that her brother may start to lose his nerve again, Ginny ordered him to wait in the room she and Hermione shared. They left him sitting on the bed, looking a little as if he might throw up, and continued up the stairs.

Harry and Ginny lay on his bed, holding hands in silence - staring up at the charred holes in the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the house. They heard Arthur returning home, chatting with his wife about his day. Then the twins storming in for a visit, conveniently just before supper.

Eventually there was distinctive racket of someone arriving via Floo and Hermione's happy greetings to everyone on her way through the kitchen.

Her light steps, running up the stairs.

Her shriek of surprise and ensuing giggles upon unexpectedly finding Ron hiding in her room.

Then everything was quiet. The minutes stretched on and Ginny clutched his hand tighter.

Finally the house was filled with squeals of delight.

Ginny rolled over, on top of him. Her hair fell down, shrouding Harry's face, as her soft lips slowly moved against his own. The languid kiss deepened as the sounds of laughter and congratulations floated up to them from below.


	4. Separate Ways

**Separate Ways**

The last seven years, Harry had looked forward to September the first with almost a frenzied anticipation. This year, he'd dreaded it. He'd tried to stave off its coming with the sheer force of his mind. Yet it had arrived, mocking him with its inevitability, just the same.

The only good thing about it was the snog of a lifetime that he was in the midst of receiving. Ginny's lips had been glued to his since about seven o'clock that morning.

At first, when she'd launched herself at him at the breakfast table, it had been embarrassing. Her parents were both standing right there, after all. But by the time they had settled into the car for the trip to King's Cross, he'd gotten over his discomfort. The Weasleys, sitting in the front seat, chatting about the day ahead, didn't seem to mind. In fact, he thought he'd caught Mrs. Weasley averting her eyes and chuckling with a wistful smile. And, Harry supposed, so long as the kiss remained a kiss, and they refrained from actually groping each other, they were presumably on safe ground.

Every once in a while, Ginny would seem to get a hold of herself and would pull back from him for a moment. But then her eyes would meet his, she'd make a small whimpering noise, and she'd attack him all over again.

Presently, they were standing just beside the train, probably putting on a real show. Ginny's hold around his neck had become slightly more desperate, and Harry was a little worried she might actually strangle him before they were done.

He realized he should probably be concerned about the flashes of light he thought he saw, but with the feel of her lips moving against his, it was hard to think about much else. He had no idea how long it would be until she would be kissing him again.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley coughed. "If you don't mind, dears, I would like a chance to say goodbye to my only daughter."

Ginny broke from him to hug her parents.

Usually, on this day, Mrs. Weasley was a picture of crazed manic energy, shouting instructions and madly trying to get everyone on the train on time and in one piece. Today she was standing still, holding her last child in a mama-bear hug with tears in her eyes. Mr. Weasley stood beside them, his arm around his wife's shoulders, a sentimental smile on his face. And it suddenly occurred to Harry exactly what he was witnessing.

He quickly did the math in his head and figured out that for seventeen years Molly and Arthur had been bringing children to the Hogwarts Express - and this was their last journey. This day marked the end of something significant, and Harry wasn't sure if it was a happy or a sad moment. As he watched Ginny kiss her father on the cheek, he decided it was probably a bit of both.

As the train's whistle blew, Ginny turned back to him for a last breathless kiss. Nearly clutching the life out of him, she whispered, "I love you, Harry."

Harry murmured against her ear, "I love you, too, Ginevra."

Ginny leaned back and smiled at him. Harry knew he didn't say if often enough. Somehow he was still a little uncomfortable with the whole declaring his feelings thing, but he knew the occasion warranted it.

The engines started to rumble.

Harry motioned to the carriage behind her. "You need to get on."

"I know." Ginny gave his hand a final squeeze then turned and climbed up the steps and pulled the door closed behind her.

As the Express started to pull out of the station, Harry was stuck by the memory of the first time he had seen Ginny, just ten years old and running alongside the train. That was before he had even met Ron. Before he had any idea how important the Weasley family would become. Considering how fascinating he had found them, he probably should have known. Sometimes, he thought, if he ever paid close enough attention, he could tell how important someone would be in his life, just from the first glimpse.

Now their positions were reversed. But Harry didn't want to run. He didn't want to look like a school girl. So instead he walked briskly. All the way to the end of the platform.

Ginny leaned out her window, laughing at him and waving. And crying just a little.

For the rest of the afternoon, Harry was left to his own devices, and it was horrible. He was trudging around Diagon Alley and trying to keep himself from falling into a terrible funk.

He had spent the last two weeks lazing about the Burrow with Ginny - making the most of the dwindling summer. Ron and Hermione rather annoyingly kept insisting on acting like responsible adults and actually going to work. Hermione was really getting into it - even staying late a few times. Ron, however, could always be depended on to come home for supper and go for an evening fly.

Now for his days, Harry would be left rather depressingly alone. And soon the Quidditch season would start, and he would be seeing even less of Ron.

As Harry thought of the coming ten months stretching out endlessly before him, he was starting to realize he really did need to figure out what to do with himself.

Quidditch was out. Ron had suggested it. Repeatedly. But if Harry was trying to stay out of the limelight, playing Seeker on a professional team didn't seem like the best idea. There was being amenable and allowing his picture to be taken occasionally, and there was putting himself in the spotlight before a giant crowd several times a week, seeking additional fame. Harry remembered how the girls used to follow Krum around - and the very idea gave him the willies.

It was too bad he couldn't play under a secret identity. A little Polyjuice before each match, and he could fly as some unknown, atrociously ugly git. Maybe he could sneak back to Privet Drive and steal a few of Dudley's hairs. Of course, the extra weight would throw off his game. And Harry knew, no team would let him play and not cash in on the Potter name.

And that left him with precisely nothing.

Harry sighed tragically and opened the door to Florish and Blotts. He could poke around and maybe find something decent to read.

Randomly pulling a book off the shelf, he remembered he didn't even have an evening of losing at chess to look forward to. Hermione had decided it was time her family got to know Ron. And as a result, the newly engaged pair were spending the rest of the week at her parents' home.

Harry had spent the night before watching Ron comically trying to pick out his best clothes for the occasion.

Harry didn't get why Ron was so nervous and had said so. "You've met Hermione's parents before, haven't you?"

"Yeah," Ron had answered, knocking the dust out of a rather old looking carpet bag, "but then I was a harmless school chum. Now I'm the suspicious bloke that's trying to shack up with their daughter."

"Hardly," Harry had scoffed. "You did ask her to marry you, remember."

Ron had glared at him. "I realize, that this is an experience that you don't get to have, because Mum has naively adored you since you were eleven, but trust me, it's bad. Nerve-rackingly awful."

Harry had laughed, and made a mental note to suggest to Hermione that she keep Ron away from anything electrical.

Now though, he was annoyed. He didn't see why his best friends couldn't have considered his needs a bit more and put off their visit a week. The fact that he himself hadn't realized just how glum he would be feeling was a detail easily enough ignored.

Not all was lost. Lupin, thankfully, had sent him an owl the night before, inviting him to tea. He was just back from two weeks abroad and had decided it was time for a visit. Harry wondered if his old professor had known how listless he would be feeling today.

But that wasn't until four. And he still had, Harry looked at his watch, three hours to spend.

He decided to head over to Florean Fortescue's and try to drown himself in ice-cream.

At precisely four o'clock, and not a minute later, Harry was standing in Remus Lupin's brand new one-bedroom apartment, holding his rather painfully full belly and trying not to moan. Apparating on a stomach swimming in sweets turned out not to be the brightest idea.

Apparently misreading his expression, Lupin greeted him with a laugh. "Hey, it's a lot better than of few of the other flats I've had. The beds not even tucked into the wall."

Harry eased himself into a chair. The place was a bit small. Smaller than he had expected, now that he thought about it. "Aren't you using your inheritance from Sirius?"

"Yes, that is how I can afford this place. But that money has to last for a lifetime." Lupin smiled grimly as he poured the tea. "I'm afraid there still isn't a wealth of employment opportunities for werewolves." He held out a plate. "Sandwich?"

Harry groaned, leaned forward and rested his forehead on the table.

An hour later, after Lupin had disclosed all the details from his first ever vacation, and Harry, conscious of not sounding too pathetic, had described the morning's events, he decided it was time to share his biggest news. "I've decided I don't want to be an Auror."

Lupin steepled his fingers under his chin. "That is probably very wise, Harry."

It was strange, Harry had hoped for Remus' support, but when it came so quickly it hurt a little. "You don't think I would have been any good?"

Lupin openly scoffed. "I think you're brilliant. You have a natural aptitude for fighting the Dark Arts, such as I have never seen before. But I have also worried your, shall we say, apathy for authority, doesn't make you a very good fit for the Auror Division."

Harry grumbled, "You don't think I could have followed the rules."

"It's not just the three years of training that I'm talking about," Lupin answered. "When you finished that, you would still be a rookie. And there are a lot of rules and orders to be followed. And the person giving those orders, depending on who it turned out to be, may or may not be someone YOU would decide to respect, but you would still be expected to follow them - without question."

Lupin selected a chocolate biscuit off the tray on the table and started to munch. "You make your own decisions, Harry, always have. Even walking into the forest to meet Voldemort by yourself this summer - it was very brave and turned out well, but if you had been an Auror at the time, your superiors would not have approved. They might have even felt inclined to have an inquiry about it, after the fact."

Though it sounded like criticism, Harry knew that wasn't how the words were intended. He smiled. "So I would have made a really terrible Auror?"

"Ghastly. A formidable independence, such as yours, only makes for trouble. You would have been buried in paperwork, explaining yourself." Lupin sat back in his chair and regarded him. "No. You always struck me as more of a free agent."

Harry huffed. "Yeah, but a free agent doing what?"

Lupin shrugged casually. "Don't know. Take your time, Harry. It's not like you need to be in any hurry to figure this all out."

Harry felt the gloom of the morning return. "Except I don't have anything to do in the meantime."

A moment of silence stretched on as Lupin appeared to think. For want of anything else to do, Harry decided to see if it was safe to try a biscuit. His stomach didn't seem to protest too strongly as he took a small bite.

Finally, Lupin leaned forward and asked quietly, "Have you ever thought about writing a book?"

Harry coughed, nearly choking on his mouthful. "A book? Like Lockhart?"

"Of course not!" Lupin exclaimed. "Nothing self-congratulatory like that pumped up braggart. But think of everything you could reveal."

Harry took a sip of tea, still trying to get the last crumbs down. "What do you mean?"

"Well, to start with, what really happened to your parents. Take the mystery out of that night - tell the world why Voldemort wasn't able to kill you." Lupin looked a little more solemn as he added. "And you could finally tell everyone the truth about Sirius. Clear his name."

Feeling a slight lump in his throat at the possibilities, Harry merely said, "I guess."

Lupin reached across the table and squeezed his arm. "Look, Harry, someone is going to write an unauthorized biography, whether you like it or not. There are probably already a dozen Wizards scribbling away, trying to beat each other out. Maybe you ought to take the chance to show your side of the story."

Hours later, Harry was in bed, unable to get any rest. He was far too excited about the opportunity to finally make the world understand. He would start with the prophecy - and how Voldemort had chosen him. That it wasn't the other way around. How he wasn't some hero for surviving as a baby - but it had been his mother's sacrifice to save him. Really, in the end, it would probably be the most self-deprecating biography ever written.

It was strange how quiet the nearly empty house was at night. All of Harry's previous stays at the Burrow had been marked by their constant state of commotion. Now everything was still. Even Mr. Weasley was out - called in to work for an emergency. Harry and Mrs. Weasley were totally alone in the house - and the resonating silence, on top of his own nervous energy, made it nearly impossible to sleep.

After a couple of hours of tossing about and trying every trick he could think of, he finally gave up and decided to go downstairs for some milk or pumpkin juice. And maybe a piece of pie, leftover from supper.

As he approached the second landing, the silence was broken by the distinct sound of muffled sobs. Harry stood outside Percy's old door, unsure of what he should do.

After a minute's debate, Harry opened the door. He could just make her out in the dim light, sitting on the bed and crying into a pillow. "Mrs. Weasley?"

"Oh, Harry." She jumped, visibly startled. "I'm - I'm sorry dear. I thought I was finally alright to come in here." She looked about herself. "We're going to have to clean it out soon. If you leave these things too long, the room just becomes a shrine. And that's worse. That's worse."

Harry glanced around the room. Percy hadn't left much behind - it was mostly things from his childhood. "Mrs. Weasley, can I get you some tea?"

After he sat Mrs. Weasley down in a chair, and started searching the cozy kitchen for the things he would need, Harry couldn't help but let his mind wander back to a year ago, when he had first arrived at Headquarters after Percy's death.

When he entered the dark basement kitchen that night, he found Hermione at the table, her head resting on her arms.

She heard him come in and looked up, mopping at her eyes with her sleeve. "I'm sorry - now that everyone else has gone to bed, I was finally letting myself have a good cry."

Harry nodded. He suddenly realized that he had never seen Hermione cry when Sirius had died, and he wondered if she had done the same. "How is everyone?"

Hermione sniffed. "Mrs. Weasley took to her room and she's been in there most of the day. Ginny has been looking after her. Bill and Charlie have been making arrangements and trying to figure out who needs to be contacted."

She took a deep breath, seeming to steady herself before she continued. "Fred and George are really angry. And they keep switching back and forth - one minute they're swearing revenge on whoever murdered him and the next they're furious with Percy for getting himself killed. I'm worried about them, Harry. You know there has always been some sort of weird sibling rivalry between Percy and the twins, even before he left the family. They always picked on him the most, and I don't think they know how to handle it. Mr. Weasley had to put some sort of charm on the house, so that they can't leave for three days."

"Ron's," she paused, looking as though she were about to start to crying again. "Ron's been absolutely silent. He has barely spoken a word. Mr. Weasley is trying to hold it together for the rest of the family, but he looks so old and tired. He finally told everyone to go to bed about an hour ago."

Her speech done, Hermione moved over to Harry and hugged him. He patted her back a little and asked, "Why are you still up?"

"I was waiting for you. I figured someone should be up to greet you." She squeezed him tighter. "And I'm so happy you're here, Harry."

A few minutes later, he went looking for Ginny. Knowing almost instinctively where she would be.

When he found her in the drawing room, she was already curled up on the couch, asleep. He kneeled beside her, carefully pushing a lock of fiery hair off her face. Harry decided he wouldn't wake her.

Ginny must have sensed another presence in the room though, for a minute later she stirred and opened her eyes. She blinked at him and smiled, happy to see him. And Harry could tell the precise moment when the memory struck as her face crumbled and her eyes started to well. "I forgot," she whimpered.

"I know," Harry said, in what he hoped was a soothing voice.

He climbed on the couch and pulled her into his arms. He noticed a cup of sleeping potion on the table beside them. "Did you drink any of this?"

Ginny nodded against him. "Just a sip. I wanted to be able to wake up when you got here."

He pushed the cup into her hands. "You should finish it."

She looked down into the purple liquid. "I get now why you used to sleep so much last year." She tipped her head back and downed the draught in one go.

They arranged themselves on the couch, facing each other, Ginny's head tucked under his chin, her hands clutching his shirt. "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

Her voice was already drifting. "Don't let me sleep too late, okay? I want to get up early to make breakfast for Mum."

Of course, Harry didn't wake Ginny up. He extricated himself as carefully as he could from her embrace the next morning and headed for the kitchen - determined to be of some use.

Unfortunately, cooking in a Wizard kitchen had its own complications that Harry hadn't considered. To start with, no matches. And he couldn't start a fire with his wand. He'd be damned before he caused the Weasleys anymore trouble with something as frivolous underage magic.

He was standing on a chair, gingerly holding a piece of kindling in the flame of a wall lamp when Mrs. Weasley came in and caught him. She appeared only mildly shocked to find him in such a position. "What are you doing?"

Harry hoped he didn't look like too much of an idiot as he answered, "Cooking breakfast."

She tutted and walked towards him. "Get down from there, before you set yourself on fire." She pulled out a chair at the table for him to sit and started putting on her apron.

Harry was torn. He was strongly tempted to insist on doing it himself, on telling Mrs. Weasley to take it easy, and let someone else do the work for a change. But he also remembered Hermione once telling him that some people find comfort in routine, and he didn't want to mess with that. He wished he knew which was the right answer.

A few minutes later though, Mrs. Weasley sharply pulled her hand back from a boiling pot, muttering a rather shocking, "Jesus suffering fuck."

Harry was momentarily stunned. Mrs. Weasley had lost her temper and nearly shouted the house down in his presence a number of times before, but he had never once heard her curse. He was up out his chair and by her side in an instant. "Mrs. Weasley, please let me do it."

Looking down into her hand, she merely nodded, fresh tears already threatening to fall. She moved over to a cabinet and removed what Harry assumed was ointment for her burn, and then sat down in a chair close to the fire.

Molly spread the salve onto her hand as she watched over Harry. She gave instruction on how to cook over an open fire and uttered the occasional spell as he needed them. And Harry found his way to help.

Now as Harry pointed his wand at the kettle in the Burrow kitchen, and deftly boiled the water, he thought of yet another oversight of the Hogwarts curriculum. They taught Muggle Studies for the kids from Wizarding families, but what about Wizard Home Economics for those who had grown up with Muggles?

Mrs. Weasley's voice pulled Harry out of his thoughts. "I didn't protect my baby."

Harry brought the teapot over the table and sat down. "I'm sorry?"

"Percy." She frowned. "I didn't keep him safe, like I should."

At a total loss for anything appropriate to say, Harry poured the tea.

Watching the steam rise from her cup, Molly told her story. "Percy never fit in with his brothers. He was the only one who was terribly physically awkward and I think he felt he was the odd man out, stuck between Bill and Charlie and the twins. The one thing he knew he could excel at was school, which is why he made such a big deal out of it all the time. He was never as strong as the others and he found some strange sort of comfort in rules." She smiled a little at the memory. "It all made him a bit of an oddball, and oh how his brothers teased him for it, but it made me happy. I had one child I knew I didn't need to worry about so much. I knew I could rely on him to always make the right choices and he would make something of his life."

She blew on her drink and carefully took a sip. "He didn't even fit in with Ginny, she always took more after Fred and George. Though Lord knows that didn't stop Percy from trying to take care of her. He felt so guilty after her first year. He thought he had failed her, when the truth was, we all did. I'm not sure he ever stopped blaming himself."

Molly shook her head. "He wanted so badly to prove himself. To show how he stood out and demonstrate his worth to this family. When he got that job with Fudge, he was so excited. I know he came home believing he was going to make his father proud. Instead Arthur warned him, had to warn him, about the truth of the situation. And it broke Percy's heart. He thought we were undermining him the same way his brothers had his entire life. That's why he said all those horrible things and stood so strongly against us. He wanted so much to feel as though someone was loyal to him that he gave his own loyalty away blindly and devotedly."

She looked at Harry sadly. "I'm his mother. I should have tried harder to reach out to him, but I didn't know how and he was so stubborn."

Harry was tempted to interrupt, but Mrs. Weasley raised a hand, keeping him quiet. "When the truth about Fudge finally came out Percy was destroyed. He came back and Arthur and I tried to make him understand that he was always welcome, that there were no hard feelings, but I know the kids gave him a hard time. Everything is so black and white when you're young. He wanted to make amends, but he still had his pride. That's why he joined the Order. That's why he went out on that mission."

She let out a deep sigh. "And I let him. I let him go."

Harry didn't agree. He rather thought that Percy was responsible for his own actions. But he also knew he was hardly the person to tell anyone not to blame themselves. And he figured it was probably a mother's prerogative to feel responsible for her children. But there was one thing he knew for certain on instinct, and it had to be said. "Mrs. Weasley, I think you're a fantastic mum. All of your kids are lucky to have you."

She chuckled a little, ruefully. "It's nice of you to say."

Harry insisted vehemently. "It's true."

Mrs. Weasley took another sip of her tea. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't unload all of this on you. But I haven't been able to say these things to the other children. Not even Arthur."

Harry was about to tell her he didn't mind, but just then the door opened. Arthur walked in, looking concerned to find them both still up. "Molly?"

Mrs. Weasley rose from her chair and walked to him. "The house is too quiet. We couldn't sleep."

"Ah, the empty nest again, it always takes a while to get used to," he said good-naturedly. But as he hugged his wife and sadly eyed the empty tea cups, Harry got the distinct impression that Mr. Weasley knew more than he let on. "Come on, Molly, let me take you up to bed."

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the depressing chapter. The rest of the story still has plenty of angst - but this is it for the serious mourning. Now look forward to dragons, ghouls, fun fights and falling in swamps. Next chapter - new apartments and snogging via Floo! Chapter Five will be released before the break for Half Blood Prince.


	5. Arrested Development

Arrested Development

During the weeks following September the first, every single publication in the entire Wizarding press featured a moving photograph of Harry and Ginny engaged in full passionate snog on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Usually under such classy titles as, "Boy Who Loved?" or "He Who Must be Kissed."

Though it was deeply embarrassing, mortifying even, Harry decided it wasn't quite as bad as being called a spoiled attention seeking lunatic brat.

The one article that truly troubled him was published in the Weekly Moon. That lovely author had noted that as the girl in the picture was boarding the Hogwarts Express, "The Boy that Keeps on Living" would be sadly all alone for ten months. Plenty of time to be enticed away by other young attractive Witches.

Harry absolutely hated how Ginny might feel when she saw that. And he knew there was no point in trying to pretend it might escape her attention. A few of the Slytherin students from her year could be just as nasty as Draco Malfoy - and there was simply no chance Ginny hadn't been conveniently provided with a copy of that particular column. Or five.

He'd Owled her an apology as soon as he had seen it. She had merely written back, "Don't be stupid. I'm the one that attacked you, after all. I suppose it's a good life lesson though. Remind me never to rip your robes off in a public toilet."

Harry appreciated the fact she was trying to deal with the situation with a sense of humour, but he was also worried it was a pile of shite. He had started to realize that when Ginny was uncomfortable with something, she covered with a joke. It had taken an egregiously long time, and he was often still in the dark as to what precisely was wrong, but he had finally figured out that facet of her personality.

Harry had known from the second he had woken up from his coma that he didn't want the press invading the rest of his life. He had understood that he wanted to avoid Skeeter wannabes poking around the Weasley home while he was there. But somehow it had slipped his mind to consider how it all might affect Ginny at school.

Now that the issue had been brought to his attention, the memories of his fourth and fifth years gave him a pretty good idea of how she was likely feeling, suddenly thrust into the media spotlight. And he figured it probably wasn't fair. For the most part, he was safely secluded at the Burrow. Ginny was trapped in a castle teeming with gossiping teenagers - having to face mobs of people at every meal. All Harry had to contend with on a daily basis were the twins.

Although, Fred and George had made it their personal duty to make sure someone was taking the mickey out of Harry on a semi-regular basis.

One evening at supper, the pair had sat on either side of Harry, passing a magazine back and forth between them. This particular full-colour photo captured the moment from a particularly close angle.

"Never knew you were so photogenic Harry," Fred said, his arm around Harry's shoulder's.

"We especially love the part where we can actually see your tongue," George added, holding the cover in front of Harry's face.

Fred started to point. "See, there it is. And there. And there. Oh, wait a second."

"Don't worry, Fred," George said genially. "It will come back."

"Ah yes, there."

"Fascinating technique, Harry."

That wasn't the end of their fun. That night when Harry went to bed, he found his entire room plastered in various magazine and newspaper covers. Every wall and even the ceiling were covered in magically enlarged pictures of Ginny and himself, merrily snogging away. And the twins had been right, he could see a fair amount of tongue.

The one consolation was Fred and George probably hadn't imagined the actual result of their prank. Ginny had been gone a week, he was eighteen, and it was hard to lounge in bed, literally under such a frenzied onslaught of passion and not be affected. Needless to say, the pictures didn't come down until the next morning.

And he still secretly kept one in the journal he was using for his writing.

Harry had made a point of trying to write for at least a few hours a day. It had turned out to be a lot harder than he had originally thought.

He started at the beginning, with all the facts as he knew them, of the prophecy and the night his parents had been killed. That had seemed easy enough, but then he ran into his first roadblock - the ten years he had spent at the Dursleys.

Harry had no idea how far he wanted to get into that experience. He was acutely aware of how people might react if he presented himself as a suffering child. Poor, poor, famous Harry Potter, had to live with relatives that were mean to him. He didn't know how to present the truth of the situation without sounding like he felt sorry for himself and was begging for sympathy.

He was tempted to merely write the sentence, "I lived the next ten years with my Aunt and Uncle," and be done with it. But at the same time he wanted to tell of how he had been ignorant of the entire Wizarding World, and what it had been like to finally discover it. How strange it had been to learn that everyone knew who he was, but having no memory of the reason why. Finally he decided to just skip ahead to his first year. He would go back to the Dursleys later.

Then there was structure. He had no idea exactly HOW he wanted to tell his story. Should he cover each year or just the key events? Should he put in personal details or just the straight facts? How much should he include about Ron and Hermione? Should he tell of how they met and go into their friendship at all? How about the Weasleys? Ginny?

Eventually he ended up bouncing around through his history. What he wrote about completely depending on what he felt like that particular day. He hoped that he would figure out how to tie it all together, and have it make sense, later.

That was how Harry spent the month of September: buried under an assortment of embarrassing kissy-face photos and realizing that he actually had no clue how to write a book.

There was also the tiny detail of trying to ignore the potential changes happening around him. Ron kept bringing up the suggestion of him and Hermione living together in their own flat. The way he rhapsodized about the whole thing, it was clearly a rather elaborate fantasy. And worse, Hermione seemed to be warming to the idea.

Then one day, the first week of October, Ron came home from work flushed with excitement. He pulled Hermione into his arms and danced her around the kitchen. He had found them a place.

One of the players on the team had recently found out his wife was going to have a baby. They had decided to move into a house and were willing to let Ron and Hermione sublet their old flat. They could go and see the place that night.

Harry was invited along, of course.

The second he stepped inside, Harry despised absolutely everything about the place. He hated the colour of the walls. The stupid, shoddy carpet that looked like it was ten years old, at least. He even hated the light fixtures.

The first words out of his mouth were, "It's a bit small, isn't it?"

Ron looked a little alarmed. "Well, it is only the two of us. How big should it be?"

Hermione beamed, "I like it, I think it's cozy."

Ron smiled, apparently reassured, and brought them into the kitchen.

Harry leaned against the counter and asked, "Do either of you even know how to cook? Aren't you worried you might starve?"

Hermione pulled her head out of the cupboard she was looking in, and weakly offered, "I'm learning."

Harry shrugged and moved over to the fireplace, absently running his hand along the mantel. "Blimey, this thing is tiny. Are you sure you can even fit in there?"

Neither Ron nor Hermione answered. They were both standing still, openly staring at him. Harry walked into the living room and they followed. He flopped down onto the couch. He couldn't stand how he was acting. He knew he was being a complete git. At the same time, he couldn't stop himself. He gestured to the window and the busy street below, "Rather noisy, isn't it?"

Ron quickly turned to his girlfriend and fretfully assured, "We can do charms to fix that."

For her part, Hermione's lip was trembling. She looked as though she were about to burst into tears at any moment.

"Oh great," Ron moaned, obviously noticing her distress. He suddenly rounded on Harry - a picture of absolute fury. "This is my first place! And I'm bloody proud of it, you stupid sod. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Harry had no clue how to answer, so instead he excused himself and hurriedly escaped into the pint-sized washroom.

He leaned against the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. He knew he was behaving like a spoiled child, but he couldn't help it. He loathed this place. He sensed it in his gut - this flat was evil. He felt sick. His throat hurt. Oh mother of Jesus, he felt as though he were about to cry. He took off his glasses, pinched his nose and swallowed it down.

Hermione was knocking at the door. "Harry? Are you okay in there?"

He coughed. "Yeah, just a minute."

Apparently deciding he didn't need his privacy in her brand new toilet, Hermione opened the door. She just looked at him for a minute, and then, before Harry knew what was happening, she was hugging him. "I'm sorry, Harry. We did this all wrong."

Ron was standing in the doorway. "What's going on?"

Hermione turned around to face Ron, taking Harry's hand. While he appreciated the gesture, it was doing nothing to alleviate his feeling like an enormous baby. "Maybe Harry's right. Maybe we should get a bigger place. With a second bedroom."

Ron looked dumbfounded. "We can't afford a second bedroom!"

"We could," Hermione prodded, "if someone else were chipping in for it."

And that's when it hit Harry square in the face. This was the moment when everything would irrevocably change. He and Ron would never again share a room. The three of them wouldn't see each other every day, let alone eat every meal together. His family was moving out, leaving him behind with nothing but a gaping hole in his chest.

He needed to sit down. He pushed past the two of them and found the couch again as quickly as he could. Ron followed him, seemingly mollified. Hermione quietly sat on the arm rest. The three friends sat facing each other. Harry felt decidedly uncomfortable under their gaze.

Finally, Ron spoke. "I thought you were happy at the Burrow. You keep going on about how great it is."

Harry shrugged. "It IS great. I don't get why you're in such a hurry to leave."

Ron thought about it for a minute. "I don't know. Maybe it's different. I grew up there - in a crowd. I can't wait to get out - have my own place."

Hermione spoke up. "We can figure something out, Harry, if you want."

"Yeah," Ron added. "It would be fun, the three of us. I just thought you were waiting for Gin. I mean, it's only nine months." There was a pause before he added cautiously, "You do want to live with her, don't you?"

"Yeah." He did. He had been imagining the layout of their little cottage for two years. With an enormous garden, teeming with gnomes. He felt like a prat. "You guys should take this. Don't worry about me, I'm being stupid."

Hermione seemed uncertain. "Are you sure?"

Harry nodded - he didn't trust his voice.

First thing the next day, Harry sent Hedwig to Ginny with a note asking her to wait up till midnight in the common room.

He had been holding out as long as he could. If they were going to be apart for ten months, Harry had felt the need to pace the more desperate measures. And he wasn't even sure why he could visit her via Floo. It went against everything people claimed about Hogwarts' security. But Sirius had managed it, so it must be possible. Then again, why had Sirius needed the password in Harry's third year - if he could have just Floo'd in whenever he felt like it. Really, the whole thing made no sense.

Maybe it was somehow restricted to talking heads.

Whatever the logic, after the debacle the night before, Harry needed to try.

He tried to set himself up comfortably with a pillow for his knees and a small step-stool in front of him to balance his arms. Nothing else for it, he tossed in the powder and hoped for the best.

Ginny was sitting in one of the large arm chairs, reading her Transfiguration textbook. Not sure if there were any other students still up, Harry started with a quiet, "Hey."

Ginny looked up and smiled. It was one of the best, warmest smiles he had ever seen. "Hey."

As she pulled her chair closer to the fire, Harry tried to get a look behind her. "It's alright," she said. "No one else is here."

But something else had caught his attention. "Is that what I think it is on the bulletin board?"

Ginny flew around to look. She then launched herself out of her chair, muttering, "Stupid, sodding gits. You would think they would get tired of this." She pulled the picture down, crumpling it in her hand.

As she sat back down, Harry offered another apology. "I'm sorry." This wasn't how he had hoped their conversation would start.

Ginny shrugged. "It's alright. It hasn't been all bad."

Harry glowered. "What could possibly be good about it?"

Ginny bit her lip, then looked at him mischievously. "Colin Creevy was on that platform, you know."

"Oh God," Harry groaned. "Don't tell me he snapped a few for his private collection."

Ginny smirked. "Though I can't confirm what he may or may not have kept for himself, he gave me a framed portrait. It's a really nice black and white, and classier than all the others somehow, kind of romantic." She frowned, thoughfully. "He has come a long way with that camera."

Harry snorted. "Well, he's had enough practice."

"I like it," she continued. "It's going up on our mantel one day. He said it was for you as well, to make up for what a pain in the arse he used to be."

There was something Harry had been thinking about since his late-night conversation with Mrs. Weasley. He wanted to do something for her, without betraying her trust. And he thought he had come up with a possibility. This seemed like as good an opportunity to broach the topic as any. "Gin, do you think your mum would like a portrait?"

"Of us kissing?" she laughed.

"No," Harry answered, softly. "I mean of Percy."

Ginny appeared a little taken aback. She thought about it for a minute before she asked, "Did you know Mum's brothers were killed in the first war?"

He'd had no idea. "No."

Ginny nodded. "It's not exactly something we talk about much. They died just after I was born, so Ron and I don't even remember them."

"Does your mum want portraits of them?"

Ginny shook her head. "When Ron went away to Hogwarts his first year, I really missed him. I was all alone in the house for the first time and I didn't have anybody to play with." Harry had no idea what she was getting at, but she continued. "I fancied that I might like to have a portrait of him around to talk to. And I asked Mum why we didn't have portraits of her brothers. She said, while it might be nice to have portraits of her family somewhere else, where she could see them from time to time, she wouldn't want them living in the house with her. I didn't really get it, so she tried to explain that portraits have the main personality traits and opinions, but they lack the full essence of who the person truly was. There aren't any layers, and as a result they often end up more like caricatures than true representations."

"Oh," Harry said, trying to understand. He'd also been thinking about commissioning a portrait of Sirius, and he hadn't considered that it might be confusing. He'd just liked the idea of having a piece of him back.

Ginny went on. "And now I agree with her. I don't think I would be comfortable with something that wasn't really my brother hanging on the wall." A surprising grin lit upon her face. "Especially Percy. Could you even imagine it? He would sit up there like a big stiff snobby prude and complain about the noise all the time. And that's not really who he was, and not how I want to remember him."

Harry wasn't sure if he agreed or not, but clearly it wasn't what Mrs. Weasley would want. He sighed. It had seemed like such a good idea.

There was a bit of an awkward silence, which Harry felt the need to fill. "How is school?"

Ginny suddenly looked at her toes. "Alright."

Harry could immediately tell that she was holding something back. "What is it?"

She seemed a little nervous. "McGonagall is taking me on for private lessons."

"Why?"

"She thinks..." Ginny huffed a sigh and looked at him. "You have to promise not to laugh."

Harry gave a wide grin immediately, he couldn't help it. "I promise not to laugh at you."

Ginny appraised the look on his face warily. "Not exactly encouraging. Alright. She thinks I could be an Animagus."

Harry was stunned. He stared at his girlfriend in awe. "Why would you think I would laugh?"

"I don't know." Ginny shrugged awkwardly, looking down into her hands. "I guess I'm feeling a little shy about it. I haven't told anyone here yet. And the last time I Owled you, I couldn't even put it in writing. It's this huge thing and I don't really know if I can do it or not."

Harry was reminded of the time George had made an offhand comment about Ginny's power. "You'll do it. You'll be amazing. What kind of animal are you going to be?"

"Well," she said, "there is no way to know for sure until I start training, but I think I might be a cat. My inner animal feels very cat-like."

He completely agreed. "Definitely."

Apparently deciding it was time to talk about him, Ginny asked, "How is the writing going?"

"It's hard." Harry rolled his eyes. "A lot harder than I thought it would be. Especially some parts. So I skip around a lot. The other day I wrote about the first time we, you know, kissed and stuff."

Ginny sat up in her chair, and nearly choked. "You are putting THAT in your book?"

Harry grinned evilly. "Oh yeah. It's Chapter Twenty: My Sexual Journey as a Boy Hero - From Snogging to Shagging."

She crossed her arms. "Except that we haven't shagged yet."

"Well," Harry smirked, "it IS still a work in progress."

She wasn't appeased. "Do I even need to tell you that if you were to include anything close to that about me you wouldn't survive to see the royalties?"

"I know." Harry wished he could hold up a conciliating hand. "All the same, you should take a look at it sometime, it's kind of sexy."

Ginny graced him with full-on glare. "Or maybe you should burn it immediately, before anyone hilarious like one of my twin brothers gets a hold of it."

"I'm not going to show it to anyone." He added faintly, "I just wrote it for me, because I missed you."

Her whole demeanor softened as she gazed at him. "Well, it was pretty amazing." She picked up her wand and nervously fidgeted with it for a moment. "Do you think I can kiss you this way?"

Harry looked around at the fireplace. "I have no idea."

Ginny got down on her knees and moved towards him slowly. She pointed her wand and muttered a Flame Freezing charm.

"Where did you learn that?" Harry asked, a little surprised at the new skill. He had read about the spell when studying burnings at the stake, but they had never covered them in class.

She blushed. "I looked it up when I got your Owl this morning." She rested her hands on the hearth and leaned in to kiss him.

At the last minute Harry felt compelled to warn, "Be careful." He was serious. He had no idea what would happen if she touched his face with her hands. If she accidentally pulled too hard would his whole body come through or would she just get his head?

"Don't worry," she breathed just before her lips met his. The kiss was awkward and frustrating and amazing all at the same time. The desire to lean into her was upsetting his whole sense of balance and the fact that he couldn't reach through and touch her was nearly driving him crazy. But her mouth was soft and just as insistent as ever and she tasted, well, she tasted like Ginny, and he could never get enough of her. As her tongue slid over his teeth and up against the roof of his mouth, he gave into the urge to capture her fully, sucking on her hard, practically swallowing her, and he wished it could go on forever.

A minute later Ginny pulled back, licking her lips. She smiled at him wickedly, "Chapter Twenty-One: Snogging as a Disembodied Head."

Author's Note: Well, there you have it, a nice fluffy send off before I break for Half Blood Prince. I will start posting again with Chapter Six - Wild Animal Kingdom, the first week of August.

Happy reading and good luck to everyone with their ship!

It's funny - I recently read a comment saying that shippers were the LESS serious Potter fans. Heh - I am VERY serious! And if I were still in the land of academia I would definitely find a way to write a paper on some more "intelligent" topic. But sadly I know when I get my copy I will read the last page first. Not to see what happened with Voldie, or to find out who died. But rather to see if we find out who Harry Freaking Potter's girlfriend is going to be.

Extra thanks to Loony Phoenix for suggesting the flame freezing charm - Ginny's head was nearly burned off during the making of this chapter.


	6. Wild Animal Kingdom

Author's Note: Just a reminder - I know it's been a while, but this story was conceived before the glory that was The Half Blood Prince was released. So while I got a few things right, like the couples (woot!) and that Dumbledore would die (sniff), there are also a few things a bit off. You will notice that Snape still works at Hogwarts. And that Draco was never a Death Eater. I had always thought it was possible (and still do) that Draco might turn out to be a miserable, snobby, prejudiced git, but possibly not entirely, bloodthirsty evil – you know, kinda like Snape. Oh the irony! Also, Harry's relationship with the Ministry has not been quite as toxic as it turned out to be in HBP.

Finally, the dragon sequence in this chapter was scribbled out prior to the release of Goblet. Please keep in mind that my Horntail looks like the one described in the books – and not the movie. Since the movie version would be impossible to sit on – what with the giant impaling spikes and all. Also, the whole thing about breaking free of its bonds – totally MY idea. Those bloody industry bastards are reading my mind through the phone lines again.

So after far, far too many months – here it is. Hope it doesn't blow. Apologies to follow.

**Wild Animal Kingdom**

The big day had finally arrived. October thirty-first. Halloween. The Gryffindor house team's first Quidditch match of the season, captained by Ginny Weasley. The day Harry Potter would be awarded his Order of Merlin, First Class - and possibly be eaten, or burned, or at the very least squished, alive.

Twelve straight hours of fun and frivolity had been planned. First there was the game, followed by the medal presentation. Then, to make his life even better, a brief press conference where he would have to answer questions and have his picture taken.

The light at the end of all this was in the evening - there would be a dance to celebrate his glorious victory. People from the Ministry as well as the Order were invited. But Harry didn't care about them. What he cared about was that students in their senior years at Hogwarts were also invited to attend – which meant that he and Ginny would finally, blessedly, have some time together. And that was the only thing carrying him through.

Currently, Harry was sitting in the guest box with Ron and Hermione on either side, waiting for the start of the match. The three friends had arrived early as Harry wanted a chance to sit in peace and try to settle his nerves.

In approximately two hours, depending on how long the match would last, he would be riding a dragon. A promised docile dragon, hopefully aged and somewhat lame, but still, a DRAGON.

Harry was hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees and watching his miniature Horntail stomp savagely around his palm. He was trying to figure out exactly how he had ended up in this situation. He seemed to recall it having something to do with the idea that people would grow tired of him. But at this precise moment, he couldn't begin to remember how that made any sense.

Hermione was rambling on beside him, but he was barely listening. She had spent the last two months trying to research dragon riding. And even with all of her access to records and reference materials through her position in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she hadn't had any success. Apparently there weren't any recommended dragon riding techniques - because no one before had ever been this stupid.

But then she finally said something which caught Harry's attention. "There was one fellow, a couple centuries back, who tried domesticating dragons. He had a bit of success with the more docile breeds and even managed to ride a few of them." On Harry's other side, Ron was snickering quietly. Harry could practically feel the glare Hermione cast over his bent form as she said, "His name was William Whiltshire."

Popping an Every Flavoured Bean into his mouth, Ron actually snorted out loud.

Harry sat up. "What?"

Hermione grabbed his arm in an attempt to bring his focus back to her. "It's nothing."

"No, it's not nothing," Harry said forcefully as he turned in her direction. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Well," Ron answered sardonically, "it's just that this bloke's gone down in history as William the Witless."

Harry sighed and slumped back in his seat. "Why? Was he eaten?"

"No!" Hermione insisted, if perhaps a little too aggressively. "He kept the dragons very well fed, that was part of his program. And I'm sure the dragon handlers today will have done the same."

Harry waited a beat for her to continue. When she didn't, he prodded. "Well then?"

Hermione looked dismayed. When it was clear she couldn't bear to give him the news herself, Ron filled in the blank. "So the well-fed dragons merely mauled him to death. Batted him around, kind of like how a cat plays with a mouse."

"Great," Harry muttered. A slow painful mauling, as opposed to a nice happy being swallowed all in one go.

Hermione fretted, Ron fiddled with his Omnioculars and Harry went back to watching his Horntail. The tiny creature now seemed to be mocking him as it settled down to a seated position and snarled.

Not able to take it any more, Harry turned to his so-called best friend. "You seem to be taking this whole thing very well. You act like you think it's funny."

Ron looked baffled. "It IS funny. There's no way you're actually going to go through with this nonsense. Buzzbee was mad to suggest it. And you were nutters to accept. You need to back out, mate."

"I don't think I can," Harry said glumly. "I made a deal."

Suddenly the crowd, which Harry hadn't even noticed gathering around him, broke into a cheer. The teams were making their way onto the pitch. Through his Omnioculars Harry watched Ginny shake the other Captain's hand and then move to her position as Seeker.

As she rose up into the air, bits of hair wisping about her face, Harry smiled. Despite everything else going on, Harry had been looking forward to the game for days. Aside from that one time in his fifth year, he had never really had a chance to sit back and admire Ginny in a real competitive setting. They had always played on the team together.

Watching his girlfriend shine seemed like the best thing to distract him from his impending doom.

Hermione, on the other hand, had other plans. "Look, Harry, if something goes wrong - remember their weak point is their eyes."

Harry groaned and looked away from Ginny long enough to reply, "I hope you're not suggesting the Conjunctivitis Curse. That's what Krum did, and the last thing I need is the thing thrashing about while I'm on its bloody back."

Ignoring his tone, Hermione carried on. "That's not what I meant. But if you need to do a stunning spell, your best bet would be its eyes. You will be close enough."

Right. Close enough to its eyes, which are right above its teeth. Harry knew the look he was giving her wasn't exactly gracious.

Hermione glared back at him. "I thought you wanted me to help you."

He had wanted help, but now he just wanted the ordeal to be over with so he could stop talking about it. "I did. I do. It's just, it seems like there's nothing for it, and I would rather spend my last hours thinking about something pleasant."

Hermione squeezed his arm in a way that implied she would, amazingly, concede the point and allow him to turn his attention back to the game.

Hermione's timing turned out to be near perfect - as soon as Harry managed to find Ginny, the snitch also entered his field of vision, hovering for a moment, mere inches in front of Ginny's face. The other team's Seeker was at the opposite end of the pitch, completely unaware. Appraising the situation, Ginny gave the golden ball a tiny smile and allowed it to fly away.

Beside him, Hermione gasped. "What is she doing?"

Harry smiled. "Waiting."

"What?"

Harry tried to follow the path of the snitch – his insides now clenching in anticipation, happily from the game and not what would come after. "Something always goes wrong and we end up in the final, behind by an enormous margin. And we have to score an insane number of points to win the cup. Ginny's delaying the game as long as she can, so the Chasers can score as many points as possible."

As analytical as ever, Hermione replied, "It sounds risky."

"It is," Harry agreed. "It's also brilliant if she can pull it off." Beside him Ron moaned. He nudged his friend with his elbow. "It was Ron's idea." Harry spared a glance in Ron's direction, to see him sprawled out in his seat, head tilted back, eyes on the sky, apparently unable to look at the pitch. "Is this how you watch the Canons play?"

"No!" Ron barked, now clutching his stomach. "Then I get to participate. This, just sitting here watching, is an absolute nightmare."

Harry was about to point out that he used to manage just fine, but Hermione reached behind him and ruffled her fiancé's hair affectionately. "Poor Ron, his professional career has completely ruined him for being a spectator."

Chuckling, Harry once again turned back to the field. The Gryffindor Chasers seemed confident enough. As time passed, they managed to score several goals, pulling nicely ahead of the Hufflepuff team. That was good – this plan of Ron and Ginny's wouldn't work if the rest of the squad failed to do their part.

Starting to feel a crick in his neck, Harry sat back in his chair, leaning a bit to work out the kink, only to have the bottom of a traveling cloak suddenly land in his face. Brushing the offending garment aside, Harry turned to see who the late arrival was. Oh great. This day just got better and better. "Malfoy, what are you doing here?"

Settling into his seat, the pale-haired man mocked, "There's a rumour going around that you are about to get yourself eaten. It's not as though I could miss that."

Old habits really do die hard. Harry felt his hate for his old nemesis rise up just as strongly as ever. "You should be rotting in Azkaban, along with your parents."

Malfoy leaned forward and pulled up the sleeve of his robes to reveal pale bare skin. "You might want to pay closer attention, Potter, I wasn't a Death Eater."

To Harry this was a mere technicality. "Not because you didn't want to be."

Malfoy sneered. "Oh really? Well then, lucky for me you only get sent to prison for the crimes you actually commit, not the ones you only dream of."

Seemingly enjoying himself, Draco opened a bag of pumpkin pasties and continued. "So I get to show up here and cheer on the dragon. Or hope that one day Weasley will end up so poor he'll have to walk around town in a tea towel, like those House Elves you're so fond of. Or have the occasional fantasy about a pretty Mudblood being smothered under a pile of library books. And I'm still not a bad person. And the real kicker is, you're just as bad as me. If I were about to get eaten, the three of you would all show up pitch-side with bags of sweets to watch the show."

"Nah, I'd stop it," Harry countered, "swallowing something that foul would be bad for the dragon."

Ron, his attention probably drawn out by the Mudblood comment, entered the argument. "We're not like you, Malfoy. You're nothing but a sad little racist."

Harry thought it was a huge testament to how much Ron had grown up that he wasn't lunging over his chair to pummel the idiot's face.

Draco, however, apparently wasn't as impressed. He scoffed, "Is that so? You only assume I was in the Dark Lord's inner circle because of who my parents are."

It might be partly true, but Harry would never forget the way Draco used to speak of his father. "Nice try, you worshipped Lucius."

The look on Malfoy's face became dangerously bitter. "A young boy, hoping to win the favour of his father. How utterly bizarre. But we all grow up sometime."

For her part, Hermione had been completely ignoring the old drama behind her and suddenly called out, "She caught it! Ginny got the snitch!"

Draco gave a derisive smile and took a bite from a pastie.

Harry swore violently and took up his Omnioculars. It was true – the game was over. Ginny had won, and once again he had missed it.

Harry stood up. He really wanted to punch Malfoy in his snide, ugly, ferrety face. And he might have done, if a Ministry Wizard hadn't appeared at precisely that moment and called his name. "Mr. Potter? They are ready for you now."

Hermione stood beside him and touched his elbow. "Good luck, Harry."

Still seated, Draco waved sarcastically. "Yes, Potter, good luck."

Using the last of his self-control, Harry reigned in his impulse to lash out and turned to follow the slim man down the stairs. He couldn't afford to think about Malfoy now – that could lead to his own untimely demise.

Trying to offset the sense of dread building in his stomach, Harry reminded himself for the hundredth time that he was the guest of honour. The Ministry wasn't about to make him do something that would actually get him killed - that would hardly work to buy back their reputation. This wasn't just an argument to keep himself calm – Harry knew it was actually the truth. After eight years he was starting to get used to the fact that things that would seem ridiculously dangerous in the Muggle world were merely commonplace to Wizards. Bludgers, for instance.

The Ministry Wizard led Harry down to a large area hidden beneath the stands. It was a picture of barely controlled chaos. Masses of people hurried about in all directions, carrying banners and parts of what Harry guessed was the podium, which was quickly being constructed on the pitch. In the centre of it all dozed an enormous black dragon, tied down with chains and surrounded by a dozen handlers.

As Harry moved towards the crowd, one man with bright red hair stepped forward – Charlie Weasley. "Alright there, Harry?"

Grateful to see a familiar and friendly face, Harry shook his hand. "I didn't know you were going to be here."

"I wasn't originally, but Ginny made me promise I would come up to oversee the operation." Before Harry had time to take in this information, Charlie continued, "Now, the dragon's been fed a lot calming potion to keep her docile. I also have ten wizards to lead her in on chains. And we're all standing by to stun her if necessary. All you have to do is hang on and go for a nice ride."

Charlie indicated the seat and harness that had been rigged up on the dragon's shoulders, but Harry's gaze was drawn instead to the shiny black scales and all-too-familiar bronze-coloured spikes along her tail. "Charlie, that's a Horntail."

"That's right," Charlie answered, nonplussed.

"It's supposed to be a Welsh Green," Harry muttered.

"Really?" he said, sounding a bit confused. "I'm sorry, Harry, I wasn't involved in the selection."

As Harry watched, the slumbering beast sniffed the air. Without any other movement, she opened one eye and focused it on Harry in such a way that gave the distinct impression that the dragon remembered him. "Charlie, you don't suppose that's the same dragon as from the tournament, do you?"

"I can check her papers if you…"

But Charlie was interrupted as Buzzbee abruptly appeared, rubbing his hands together, apparently delighted by the marvellous spectacle before him. "All ready to go then, Weasley?"

"Yes sir, but Harry was just asking about the dragon's origin."

"The origin?" He turned to Harry.

"That's the same Horntail," Harry stated, not trying to hide the accusation in his voice.

"That's right." Buzzbee nodded. "That's what we agreed to."

"It bloody well isn't what we agreed to," Harry shouted, getting angry.

"Come on now, Harry," Buzzbee said, still jovial. "A deal's a deal. You can't walk out on this now. How has life been at the Weasleys for you? Nice and quiet?"

"You son of a bitch."

"Listen," he put a hand on Harry's shoulder, "you keep your word and pull this off, and I promise we won't bother you again for a year. How about that?"

Despite the rage coursing through him at the threat to his happy life at the Burrow, Harry suddenly had an epiphany about his power in the situation. "No, this is the deal. I ride this dragon, your lot never bothers me again. Ever. I'll decide what events I will and won't do and under what circumstances. And you will consider yourself very happy if that means I only show up to one dinner a decade."

"Let's not get carried away," Buzzbee said. "Remember what we talked about, not making yourself a mystery."

"I know what we talked about. I also know that THIS," he pointed at the dragon, "is bullshit. And I'm ready to walk away this second unless you agree." When Buzzbee didn't appear ready to respond, Harry added, "I don't think it will reflect too favourably on you if the guest of honour suddenly disappears."

Buzzbee shifted his stance, standing to his full height and crossing his arms. "Perhaps not. But it will also make you look like a spoilt prima donna. Not the image I think you had in mind."

"Maybe," Harry agreed, "but I'm not the one with a job to lose."

Buzzbee studied him for a moment. "Alright, agreed." He motioned to the waiting dragon. "Ready?"

Harry nodded and took a step forward. This was it.

As Charlie helped him up into his seat, he quietly assured, "Alright, Harry, just like I said – everything's taken care of. This should be easy."

Harry took hold of the reigns. "Let's do it."

The procession moved slowly into the stadium, a burst of triumphant music marking their entrance. The crowd cheered. It was ghastly.

"Smile and wave, Harry," Buzzbee called from somewhere behind him.

"Not on your life," Harry muttered. He would ride, but he wasn't about to look as though he were enjoying it.

Just as Harry was about to implode from embarrassment, the situation reaching the sublimely ridiculous, the beast beneath him let out a series of huffs of air that felt suspiciously like a giant chuckle.

It was laughter. The horrid dragon was laughing at him. A dark sinister laugh that seemed, to Harry at least, to indicate that the creature finally had Harry exactly where she wanted him.

On instinct, Harry leaned forward and clutched the reigns even tighter. Glancing to the side, he spotted two of his guard regarding the dragon warily – he wasn't the only who'd heard it. "That can't be good," Harry muttered.

The second the words were out his mouth, the Horntail lunged into the air. Harry looked down just in time to see her sweep out with her spiked tail. To his horror the handlers were flying in all directions, and the chains were breaking free.

As the dragon continued her assent into the sky, Harry had one thought - apparently calming potion in no way diminished a dragon's maternal instinct and thirst for revenge. And she was a very angry, very cunning mother – she was taking them so high no stunning spell from the ground would have a chance of reaching them. She wanted Harry on his own.

And she really wanted him off her back. The dragon plunged and turned severely – frantically trying to knock her rider free.

Harry held on for dear life. Instinctively he knew not to allow himself to fall, even if there were hundreds of Wizards available and able to cushion his landing. It wasn't the plummet to earth that would kill him, it would be the Horntail swooping down and swallowing him whole before he had a chance to hit the ground.

How in the hell was he going to get out of this?

He had to do something. Not having any clear plan, but knowing he needed his wand, Harry let go with one hand and reached towards his back pocket. Just as he grasped the thin wood the dragon wrenched her body and Harry lunged forward. Landing on one side of her head, he nearly fell, but managed to grab hold of one of her bronze horns.

He was dangling desperately – only inches from the creature's mouth and teeth. One flame spurt and he was done for.

Then Harry had a moment of clarity. As the dragon sucked in breath, preparing let loose her fire, he aimed in her mouth and screamed Ginny's flame-freezing charm.

And blessedly, for a moment, nothing happened. Confused and frustrated, the Horntail stopped dead in the air – and Harry used the chance to scramble back up onto her head. With only her horns to hold onto, Harry realized he had to do something now, before she started to twist and turn again.

Hermione's words about the eyes came back to him. But Stupify wouldn't be good enough – they would both plunge to the ground like a rock. Harry took his aim for the dragon's eyes and looked back towards her wings. And when they were stretched out to their fullest, he screamed a spell he had learned in first year: "Petrificus Totalus!"

The Horntail was frozen like an outrageously large dragon-shaped glider.

The wind whipping past him, Harry carefully slid back along her neck until he reached the harness. He would have to use his weight and the chains to try guide them back down to the ground.

Once they were over the certre of the pitch, Harry leaned forward, aiming her down. Air screaming in his ears, he knew they were approaching fast, but there was nothing he could do. At the last moment Harry pulled on the chains with everything he had, forcing the Horntail's head up and her belly down.

They landed with a crash, ripping up the ground and finally, mercifully, coming to a screeching halt almost directly in front of the podium.

Everything was silent.

Minister Whitmyre stood aghast, holding Harry's medal. Beside him Professor McGonagall looked as close to tears as Harry had ever seen her. Also on the stage were several other wizards Harry didn't immediately recognize, all looking equally stunned.

Coughing a little, Harry climbed off the now motionless Horntail, dusted himself off and walked up to the Minister of Magic. Apparently unsure of what else to do, the gentleman silently placed the medal around Harry's neck.

The crowd roared.

After the presentation, Harry made his way back under the stands. There had been speeches and even embarrassing poetry in his honour, but he didn't care. The adrenaline pulsing through his body made him feel unbelievably fantastic. It was brilliant to be alive.

He had one thought – Ginny. He wanted to find her. He wanted to snog her senseless. Or maybe push her up against a wall and do something really scandalous. At the very least, running to her, sweeping her up in his arms and whooping for joy seemed like a very plausible idea.

Instead he found Charlie, rushing towards him and full of apologies. "Harry! Thank God you're okay. I've never seen a dragon behave like that before. She must really remember…"

Psh tosh! On to more important things. "Where's Ginny?"

"Oh." Charlie blanched a little. "Actually, Fred and George are sitting on her."

"Why?"

Charlie shook his head and looked a little awed. "Just after you landed, she walked up to Buzzbee, as sweet as I've ever seen her. Then she punched him square on the nose."

Harry laughed. "Excellent." He couldn't remember hearing better news in his life. The wanker totally deserved it.

At that moment Buzzbee came stumbling up, a handkerchief pressed against his face in an attempt to stop the blood flow. "Ah, Harry. The reporters will be ready for you in a few minutes. The staging area got a bit destroyed, but I have people on that. And I need to get this looked at obviously. I can't very well introduce you while I'm bleeding from the face."

For a moment Harry couldn't believe how good-natured the man was being about the situation, until Charlie's uneasy look made something click in place. Harry decided to test his theory. "What happened to your nose?"

"The damnedest thing," Buzzbee chuckled, adjusting his handkerchief. "In all the confusion of your landing I must have fallen and broken it. Not to worry, I've suffered worse." And he ambled off.

Beside Harry, Charlie coughed uncomfortably. The Weasley family really were an extraordinary lot.

Ducking further under the stands, Harry quickly found the spot where the twins had hauled Ginny off to keep her from doing any further harm. It was an amazing thing, really – having a girlfriend who happily punched people in the face on his behalf occasionally.

Harry could barely see Ginny, as she was buried under the twins' robes, one sitting on her legs, the other just below her shoulders. "Gerrof me!"

George snorted. "I don't think so."

"We're a bit disappointed in you, little sister," Fred added.

"You would think, after years under our tutelage, you would have learned something about subtlety."

Ginny was barely able to lift her head off the ground. "Subtlety… ha! Because engorged… tongues and giant… indoor swamps… are subtle."

"Maybe not," George agreed. "But humour as a weapon is fine art form."

"Not to mention," Fred said cheekily, "it's very hard to prove we're responsible."

"Having to resort to physical violence shows a distinct lack of concentration that worries us."

At this point, Harry felt the need to step in. "To be fair, I seem to recall all three of us getting kicked off the Quidditch team for fighting."

"True," George acknowledged him. "But we didn't have our wands."

"She should have at least hexed him," Fred said airily.

"I didn't want… to hex him!" Ginny attempted to screech. "I wanted to… kill him… with my bare… hands! Harry… get these idiots… off of me."

"We'll let you up, but only if you promise to play nice," Fred offered.

"And," George amended, "let us come up with a nice untraceable plan for revenge, together."

"As a team."

"That won't end up in you losing your place as Captain."

"Ugh." Ginny gave up her struggle and rested her forehead on the ground. "Fine."

The twins were off her in an instant, and Harry immediately offered his hand, helping her up. She looked exhausted, filthy, and beautiful. He was about to pull her into a fierce hug when she placed a hand on his arm, effectively putting him off. "I need to go up to the castle to get ready for tonight."

Harry was at a loss. "What?"

Already turning to go, Ginny said, "The dance. I need to get ready. I'll see you later." And she was gone.

Watching her leave, Harry couldn't believe it. He felt stunted. He had been imagining this ecstatic reunion and she had just walked away. Like it was nothing.

And what the hell? Wasn't she supposed to stay? Wasn't that part of the whole relationship gig? Supporting each other through awkward and potentially embarrassing situations that they knew the other hated doing? And for what? To do her hair? HER HAIR! Alright, and maybe a shower, she did smell a bit off. But still!

Harry hated doing interviews. Ginny knew that. He had survived the Triwizard Tournament on his own, but this time he was supposed to have somebody by his side. He had prepared for this moment, picturing himself being peppered with annoying intrusive questions, but also seeing her friendly face, just off to the side. Smiling at him. Possibly making faces.

And she just left?

Feeling terribly nettled, Harry found himself being led off to the group of journalists that had now assembled. And the questions didn't help. Harry had thought they would ask about Voldemort – about the final battle. But instead all the group seemed to care about was him. Over and over they asked about his plans and his future – where he was going to go, what about his career, what adventure would he concur next. And he kept having to answer that he didn't know, he hadn't decided anything yet. All the while wondering what business it was of theirs anyway.

He was sinking deeper and deeper into a foul mood. Until one voice rang out above the others. "Is it true that you plan to marry Ginny Weasley?"

Harry frowned and muttered, "That's the basic idea, yeah."

A few more obnoxious inquires later and he was finally done with that lot. Harry stormed off the stage and went back under the stands to find his friends.

They were all gathered together: Ron, Hermione, Fred and George, staring at him as though he had suddenly sprouted a new appendage – possibly in a highly uncomfortable location. "What?" Harry demanded.

George spoke first. "That's the basic idea?"

Fred stepped forward and patted Harry on the arm. "It was nice knowing you, mate."

Ron looked concerned. "Harry, I know girls are confusing and all, but have you gone completely nutters?"

As usual, Hermione was the one with the most helpful comment. "You really ought to tell Ginny what you said, before she reads in tomorrow's paper that the two of you are engaged."

The words were out of Harry's mouth before he even had a chance to think about them. "If she'd been here I wouldn't have to tell her anything, would I?"

Hermione looked stung.

Ron groaned, "Oh, so that's what you're mad about."

"Who says I'm mad about anything?" Harry snapped.

Ron just shook his head wearily. "Some reporter asks if marrying my sister - an idea that should make you ecstatically happy – is what you're planning, and instead of going on about how wonderful she is, you mutter some lame answer like a miserable git. You're lucky she wasn't here, she might have ditched you on the spot after hearing that."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from telling Ron what he was really thinking about his sister at that moment.

Damn it all, he was angry. And it only made him even more furious to realize it, because this wasn't how he was supposed to be feeling at all. Right now he should be enjoying his reward for surviving the rest of this horrid day.

Harry glowered and moved away from Ron and the others. He was being given access to the Quidditch change rooms to shower and switch into his dress robes. But the whole time heated thoughts swirled and built inside him.

The first part of this mess had been doomed to be terrible – dragon, reporters. But then the whole point of the night, as far as Harry was concerned, was to make up for it. It had been two months since he had spent any time with Ginny at all – and tonight they were actually going to be allowed hours together. It was supposed to be happy and wonderful.

Attempting to pat down his hair, Harry fumed over what his imaginings for this dance had been.

Recently, Harry had been thinking it was hugely unfair that there had only been one dance during his seven years at Hogwarts. He realized that if someone had told his fourteen-year-old self that he would never again have to contend with another ball, he would have found it an enormous relief. In retrospect, however, it seemed a great injustice that, considering how miserable the infamous Yule Ball had been, he hadn't been given a second chance – once he'd found someone he would actually enjoy spending the night with, dancing. And maybe sneaking away to the rose garden.

Harry stomped across the grounds. He had been seriously looking forward to this night. It had been the balm to get over his anxiety about the rest of the day. And here Ginny was, deciding to choose this moment to ruddy well pick a fight with him? Ha! Well, then a fight she would have. Bring. It. On.

Harry strode into the Entrance Hall, dress robes billowing behind him. He was a man with a purpose and he quickly found Ginny, standing off to the side. He marched up to her. Oh, he was so ready. Itching to start the battle.

Right up until the moment he saw her face. "You've been crying."

She glared at him defensively. "No I haven't."

Ginny may not be one to cry often, but the last two years had taught Harry that when she did, she didn't recover easily. Even with charms, her pale skin could stay blotchy for almost an hour. "Yes you have."

She hissed and looked away. "Don't be stupid."

And as quickly as it had come, Harry's sympathy disappeared. "Yeah, because clearly I'm the one being stupid."

She rounded on him and spat, "Have you got it out of your system?"

Harry was at an utter loss. "What?"

"Playing the conquering hero."

Now that actually hurt – like a blow. Of everyone, Ginny was the one who was supposed to know better. "That wasn't what this was about."

"Enlighten me." She tilted her head. "What was it about?"

Damn it, saying it out loud now just made him feel like an idiot. "Making people get bored of me," Harry muttered.

Ginny sniffed. "So that worked out well for you, then."

Harry was at his end. "Look, this thing with the dragon was a one shot deal. I accept the award, I ride the dragon, the Ministry leaves me alone. For good."

Never easily put off, Ginny seethed, "Buzzbee is an insane lunatic, toying with your life to make himself look good."

"Agreed," Harry relented. "And I'm done with him. But he did have a point in the beginning. If I try to hide myself away like a hermit, people will only be more curious about me. If I put myself out there a bit, be approachable, normal, people will get over this whole hero crap. I just need to figure out a way to find a balance."

She eyed him warily. "A balance with no more dragons?"

"No more dragons," Harry stated with sincere conviction.

The two of them stood there staring at each other. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about this – it seemed too easy. The blood in his veins still rallied for more of a fight. But then Ginny stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, tucking her head under his chin, and he realized he really didn't want to spend the night fighting with her at all. "Can we dance now?" She nodded against him.

This event was to be much less formal than the Yule Ball had been. Rather than a full dinner, there were tables along the sides of the Great Hall filled with food and drink. Harry's award ceremony that afternoon had served as the official part of the day, the night was to be the party to finally celebrate the freedom he had won. And Harry couldn't have been more grateful for the reprieve – he and Ginny found it very easy to lose themselves in the dark.

Ginny stayed quietly by his side the whole night. They took slow turns on the dance floor and spent the faster songs sitting off to the side together. Harry really didn't feel like talking to anybody. He was a little surprised when Ginny didn't try to pull him into the crowd for at least one fast dance, but he was exhausted and she looked just as tired. She held his hand the entire time. If she were being more clingy than usual, Harry didn't really notice – he was simply glad of the chance to be close to her.

It was late into the night before Harry remembered he had something else he had to tell her. Without saying a word, Harry stood up and led her from the hall, out the doors and deep into the rose garden.

"What are we doing?" Ginny asked, as they found a spot away from the castle.

Harry grinned, "Fulfilling one of my boyhood fantasies."

Ginny looked around at the privacy the bushes offered and bit her lip, impishly. "Oh yes, I remember this."

Harry felt scandalized. "How do you remember this?"

Ginny giggled at him. "I'm teasing you. Neville wouldn't have had the nerve. But we did come out here for some air at one point, and stumbled across a few people who came out for a bit more than air." She rubbed her arms. "It is a bit cold though, what exactly did you have in mind?"

First things first. "I need to tell you something, actually." Harry swallowed. "Look, at the press conference today, I might have given people the impression that we were engaged."

Ginny's mouth dropped a little. "And how did you do that?"

"Well, someone asked if we were going to get married and I said," Harry scratched his head, "something like, 'That's the basic idea.'"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "This had better not be your version of a proposal."

"No! Of course not." Harry tried for a joke. "Hence the lack of a ring and a string quartet."

Ginny seemed to mull it over. "I suppose we ought to warn Mum. She'll be furious if she thinks I didn't tell her straight off."

Just to be absolutely clear, Harry asked, "So you're not mad at me, then?"

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"Well, your brothers seemed to think it was a rather lame response."

Ginny frowned. "It was, but I would've had to hex you if you'd said no."

Harry nodded and grinned – he was quite pleased to remain the resident Ginny expert. At the same time though, he was a little anxious to move the topic off his lack of an actual proposal. "So, how's your Animagus training going?" It was awkward, but it at least it was something.

Ginny crossed her arms, glanced away and mumbled something he couldn't quite catch.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

Ginny looked at him a bit defensively and huffed, "A tail! I can do a tail, alright?"

Images that Harry wasn't sure were entirely appropriate flooded his brain. Maybe it was his slightly vacant, glazed-over expression, or the way his mouth was hanging open, complete with a trickle of drool, that did it - something must have given away the exact direction of his thoughts, because Ginny eyed him appraisingly and said, "I knew it."

Harry snapped back to life. "Show me."

"No way."

"Please."

"No!"

"Why not?" Harry was vaguely aware he might sound as though he were begging, but he really didn't care.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You know perfectly well why not. It doesn't go through my robes, you git."

Seeing an opportunity, Harry decided to try a different tactic. He leaned towards her and said in a low voice, "I've seen your bum before, I'm quite fond of it actually."

"Well, you're not seeing it now."

"Come on," he raised his eyebrows suggestively, "I'll show you mine."

She poked a finger at his chest. "You know, I'm not sure how I feel about you using my very serious training to become an Animagus as an opportunity to act like a big perv." She glared at him, but there was also just enough of a grin to give him a little hope.

Harry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Running his hands up and down her back, he trailed a series of wet kisses along her jaw, up to her ear and whispered as seductively as he could muster, "Ginevra, I want to see your lovely bum and your magnificent tail." She let out a tiny moan and melted against him, turning to meet his mouth with hers. Thinking he had won, Harry carefully eased one hand down to her thigh and slowly started pulling the silky robes up.

Rather forcefully, Ginny put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. "Stop!" At least she was giggling now.

Harry heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Why?"

Before she had a chance to answer, the rosebush behind them was suddenly blasted away to reveal an evilly triumphant looking Snape.

Ginny pointed dramatically and said, "That's why!"

Harry thanked God, the heavens and anybody else who might be listening that Dumbledore had completed his Occlumency training. Forget Voldemort – Harry would never be more grateful than right now, when his former vile professor did not know he'd just been begging his girlfriend to show him her lovely bum. He assumed the way Snape was staring him down, his attention was solely focused on him – some things never changed.

"Mr. Potter," Snape sneered in his usually sarcastic tone.

"Snape," Harry grunted.

"Hogwarts is so supremely flattered to host the celebration recognizing your remarkable heroism," Snape simpered. "It would be such a shame to have the evening spoiled with the revelation you were thanking the school by attempting to corrupt one of its students."

Now that just wasn't fair. Aside from this one incident, it had always been Ginny who had corrupted him. Unfortunately, Harry couldn't think of a suitable comeback that wouldn't give Snape endless amusement.

"Perhaps it would be best if you returned inside." Snape turned to the castle, clearly indicating they were to follow. And while Harry was feeling mutinous – very much aware of the fact that he no longer had to do anything Snape said ever again - he also knew that Ginny still fell under the school's jurisdiction.

One lone man, lingering by the door with a camera, noticed who was approaching him and leapt to the opportunity. "Miss Weasley! How does it feel to be marrying the hero of the Wizarding World?"

The pop of the flash momentarily blinded them. But as the puff of smoke cleared, Ginny ignored the question and instead turned to Harry. "I'm tired. I'm going to go upstairs to bed." And with a quick kiss on the cheek, she was walking through the doors.

Watching her walk away from him for the second time, Harry did the only thing that made sense – he took his disappointment out on the man who had given him years of grief. "I figured it out. No girl ever wanted to sneak away from a dance with you, did they, Snivellus? That's why you're such miserable sod, spoiling everyone else's fun."

Snape looked furious. At least that was something.

Author's Note: Before anyone starts yelling at me for making Ginny a heinous bitch - please be patient. There is actually something going on with her that she hasn't told you about yet. I think I laced the first chapter with enough clues that if you read it very carefully, you might be able to guess. No, it's not something complicated like a kidnapping – rather something a little more simple. Hilariously, I realize that because I'm throwing red herrings at you I am inviting the upset, which might be good creatively speaking. But personally I just want everyone to love me. LOVE ME!

Okay, on to the grovelling. I am deeply, DEEPLY sorry! Bringing this chapter into the world was the emotional equivalent of getting forty whiny three-year-olds trussed up into their snowsuits, complete with lace up boots and double mittens. I knew it would be a challenge, but I had no idea it would take this long and I greatly underestimated just how exhausting it would be.

The good news – this was the hardest chapter of the entire story. And I had been dreading it from the beginning. On the flip side, I am very excited about what is to come – so you will not have to wait anywhere near this long again. I promise.

HUGE THANKS – to my betas Loony Phoenix and Kjirstyn for their gentle encouragement over the last few months. Also to anyone who sent either a polite enquiry or an outright threat. Seriously, if people hadn't still been expressing interest, there was a chance I might have just said, "Sod it!"


End file.
